


Unfinished Works

by Winterstar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Hurt Steve, Hurt Tony, Identity Issues, M/M, Other, Science Fiction, Soul Bond, Western, different chapters different stories, vampire, vampire!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:06:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 115,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: A series of chapters of unfinished, abandoned works. Some of them might be a few hundred words long, others could be 10k+. These are works I have abandoned and decided are not up to what I call my standard. Read at your peril. (insert evil cackling)Chapter 1: Vampire!TonyChapter 2: Transcendence and the Human MindChapter 3: A once remembered dreamChapter 4: A Failed Attempt (sequel to Upon Waking)Chapter 5: The Captain's Serenity (sequel to The Captain and His Courtesan)Chapter 6: Soul Companions (Steve/Bucky)Chapter 7: The one with the catChapter 8: Happy Little TreesChapter 9: Into the WestChapter 10: The Prism (Steve/Bucky)Chapter 11: Prostitute Steve (No Place to Call Home)





	1. Chapter 1

In the year 1969, the United States of America landed Apollo 11 on the moon. The astronauts, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin took the first steps of any human on a celestial body other than Earth. During their time on the lunar surface an unknown radiation wave was detected but not reported to the whole of humanity. It could not be explained and therefore was not widely disseminated. The American government theorized it was the USSR. The Soviets had indeed beat the Americans to the moon. After careful inspection of the data, scientists on Earth headed by the prominent billionaire, Howard Stark, showed that the radiation source originated from the dark side of the moon. The astronauts were instructed to retrieve the radiation source.

They did.

They brought back what they called _the box_ to Earth.

Soon after the astronauts returned to Earth, Howard Stark’s team examined _the box_. It was not Soviet made, nor was it Chinese or Japanese made. It was alien, and it was a virus. The first person to be infected was Howard Stark. Officials still do not know how it spread during those first few months. It was soon discovered that the virus changed a person, transformed them into a nearly immortal being – an immortal being that fed on other humans, drinking their blood. They were called vampires for want of another term. The human population changed during those months from human to vampire, workers, and stock. Workers were humans who never changed when infected by the virus but were considered to be part of the vampire clan. Stock were those who were never infected, could not be infected for some reason and became the stock for the vampires to feed off. Some infected by the virus did not survive the transformation and died.

The vampires were inhumanly strong, immortal, and persuasive. They could go out in the sunlight, they didn’t sleep in coffins. They could die but not of natural causes. Normally mortal wounds did not affect them because they had an unnatural ability to heal. It became increasingly obvious that they were a different species. In short order, those infected by the virus swayed millions to follow them. The population left on the Earth after those first few months segmented into the three different groups. Howard Stark along with Alexander Pierce were the leaders of the new world order. 

Howard Stark never stopped studying the virus. It swept the Earth in a year and changed everything, but it soon died out and was no longer contagious, but Howard did find it infected the germline. While the virus dissipated in the environment, it became part of his DNA and part of his germline DNA. He passed it on to his progeny.

His son, Tony Stark was the first vampire born on Earth.

His son, Tony Stark was brilliant, cunning, and bloodthirsty. He grew to the age of twenty five and stopped aging. At the age of seventeen he ordered the assassination of his father. Howard Stark died in a fire along with Maria Stark – a mistake that haunts Tony Stark to this day. Tony killed the assassin and drank him dry. 

Upon his father’s death, Tony Stark became the leader of the Western Clan. His first order of business? To find the ultimate stock, to feed on the frozen body of Captain America, Steve Rogers, for the rest of his unnaturally long life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-AoU where Tony is ostracized from the rest of the Avengers - and there's a problem with Vision. This was going to be an exploration of the theory of the mind, consciousness, and intelligence. It was a story of transcendence. But the CA:CW came along and killed my inspiration for this story completely....

Tony slams the hammer down, because sometimes, sometimes he feels like Michelangelo and he knows he's on the precipice of greatness. He only needs to jump. The fragments of his thoughts scatter about him in large holographic displays. He sweeps his hands around and the images dance around him like a ballet. He flings the thoughts in different directions, following and chasing at the same time. He immersed himself in the elegant language, the ideas, the possibilities when he came back to the Tower - the Avengers Tower that isn't anymore. He began to work and didn't stop.

Bruce is gone.

Pepper has left.

Jarvis is evolved.

When the darkness of loneliness hits he denies it, because that's what Tony does the best, he finds ways to hide, to burrow down into his brain until there's no way out but up. Only then he will find relief, only then he will be free from the shadows of loneliness. He leaves alcohol behind this time, because it dims the brain, and he needs his brain. He needs to set it ablaze, a conflagration of flames, of ideas, of knowing more.

JARVIS had been an artificial intelligence. ULTRON had been an artificial intelligence with the mindset longing for something more- for consciousness on the level of a human or more, a god. Tony can see the avenues, the roads toward consciousness, if he could only tweak a little here and there. 

Equipment spread out in front of him, telling stories of how long he’s worked on this project. The incentive had been to find Bruce, to find a way to track him beyond the Quinjet landing near Fiji, but it changed, transmuted into something else. When he figured out a little about the mind gem, when he looked deeper, and deeper still until he’d finally broached something – magnificent, something insane, something with the possibilities to change the world.

He throws the hammer against the machine he’s constructed, and scrubs hands through his hair. He’s been down this path before – it’s not a smart path, but he feels particularly self-destructive and a little angry – okay a lot angry. He wants to take the world down with him, but he doesn’t. He’s not a fucking villain, but he is Tony Stark and he is a ship without moorings or port in the storm.

The Avengers are gone.

The Tower is empty.

He needs to evolve. 

What does that mean, exactly? He slumps down to the floor, the tangle of images like gnarled branches of a tree all about him. He feels absent, lost. He scratches at the place the arc reactor resided, but is now gone with the rest of him. Wincing, Tony closes his eyes and cups his face in his hands. What is there left of him. He can do this on his own. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s proven that time and again. He’s too old to ignore the fact he needs more than what’s on the surface. He needs the people that surrounded him.

He needs Bruce to tell him to settle down and take his punish for inventing a killer robot. He needs Pepper to show him there’s something redeemable about his soul. He needs JARVIS to tell him when to sleep, when to eat, when to breathe. 

A clatter across the workshop room jolts him to his senses and he looks. Through the hazy entwined holographs he spots a star sitting on a broad chest. 

“Tony?”

He jerks and rubs a little at his eyes. It will never do to have Captain America see Tony Stark – Iron Man – moping. “Yeah? What are you doing in my neck of the woods?” He climbs to his feet. He waves away the schematics, but the machine still vibrates with energy. He’s nearly done with it. He only needs one more finally piece. 

The Captain walks over to Tony and smiles, and that’s when Tony notices – he’s not alone. Vision (the Vision – which is it, Tony doesn’t know) trails behind him. His magenta face illuminated wildly by the lights of the holographic display. Tony wonders if there’s any part of Vision that remembers working with Tony, creating with Tony. He shoves the melancholy away and turns his attention to Rogers.

“We – we,” Steve says and spins around looking at the display as Tony wipes it out of existence. “What’s this?”

“Thoughts, that’s all.”

Steve regards him with that look of disapproval that they must have perfected in the 40s because Tony remembers it from his father. “Well, you’re not looking into artificial intelligence again?”

Tony shifts his glance to Vision who only stands silently at Steve’s side. How is it that his creation ended up in Steve’s hands. He frowns, he left the Avengers he needs to get used to it. 

“No, something not so pedestrian.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Steve says.

“I’m not sure you have a say in it,” Tony says and then knocks Steve in the arm. “No, Capsicle, don’t worry I’m running some studies on the definition of consciousness. Trying to figure out our man here.” Tony points to Vision.

“It would be much appreciated, Captain,” Vision says with a small bow to his head. “If we would be able to more fully understand the nature of my existence.”

Steve bobs a little on his toes and then falls back. “Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”


	3. Once remembered dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a story where SHIELD decided to manipulate a recovering Steve. He wakes up but they tell him he has a TBI and his memories are wrong. So this was really an identity story but it's Steve who doesn't know who he is and has his doubts.

They tell him he's a war hero; they tell him the war is over; they tell him he's a veteran. They tell him he's been injured, he has a brain injury. His memories aren't his own. They tell him he was never Captain America; that the injury scrambled his brains. The memories he holds dear stem from a childhood love of comic books and old 1940s black and white movies and war footage.

He blinks in the bed, half sitting up. He's cold, very cold and they don't tell him why. They offer him warm blankets, soup, and hot tea. He asks for Peggy, but they tell him he doesn't know a Peggy. He asks for Dugan, or Gabe, and they tell him he's mixing reality with his fantasy life from the movies. When he asks for his family, because surely he has family, the nurse only pats his hand and shares his frown. He's alone, he was a foster child growing up and he has no one. He spills the hot tea down his chest and hisses as it burns. She helps to clean him up and he shivers but not from the cold. Something is wrong.

He's lost someone.

He's lost himself.

They bring hordes of doctors to speak with him. They show him the television and ask him if he remembers things. They tell him he was a big comic book fan and he nods. That's true, he thinks. He thinks he wanted to be an artist for a comic book at one time. They encourage these parts of his scattered memory. He asks where he is and they tell him a secret military facility. They look sadly at him like he should know these things.

He closes up and asks to be left alone. They cede to his wishes and he turns onto the bed, and curls up. He wonders what memories are true. He used to be small, he was small. Is that a lie now, is that part of the delusion of being Captain America - the origin story. He feels wrong in his body, like the skin he's wearing is too big, he feels lost and concealed. The whole of his body suffocates him and he wheezes. He cannot breathe as he thinks about the loss of everything, his whole world, lost to memories eaten by injury replaced by false ones. A fabrication of time and space and he's in someone else's body, but then he's not. He doesn't know who he is.

The next thing he knows, he's sitting up in his bed, gasping for breath and a nurse is there comforting him. He doesn't want comfort, he wants his old life back - but then he realizes his old life isn't his - it's a figment, a fake. The doctors told him it is his mind trying to fill in the gaps left by the traumatic brain injury. His brain is filled with holes, gaping holes. Maybe that is why he's so cold. He thanks the nurse and she hesitates before she leaves him, observing him as if he's a fragile piece of ice about to shatter or melt away. Maybe he is.

She leaves after he smiles and tells her he'd like to sleep now. He lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He counts the little dots on the ceiling tiles. He doesn't respond to them when they come in the room. He ignores the doctors and tries to drill down into his own head, searching for himself. He finds nothing. They move him to a private room in the psychiatric ward. He should be insulted, but he's anything but insulted. They allow him to wear thick robes and shuffle about in his slippers all day. He watches the television incessantly. He's hungry for it. There are so many wonders he's forgotten. The injury took away. He eats and sleeps the television. He reads magazines front to back even the advertisements. The doctors seem curious and observant. Lots of doctors shuffle by him, asking him questions, probing him. He feels like their lab rat. He ignores them for the most part.

Until one day a doctor in a suit and not a white coat comes by his room as he's about to watch a glut of news programming. He can sit for hours watching and seeing the same nightmares over and again without any resolution. The people in the world around him only talk, they never find a solution. When the man enters his room with a light knock to the door, he doesn't turn his face away from the news reports of an explosion at a government facility in the Southwest.

The man steps in front of him to block his view and only then does it occur to him that the man has spoken. He uses the remote - something like the color television that's all too unknown to him - and turns down the volume. He doesn't turn it off. He wants to see the pictures.

When he turns his attention to the man, the man gives him a smiles - it's platonic and dull. He dismisses the man immediately and goes to turn on the sound again.

Before he does, the man says, "We need your help."

He turns to the man. "My help? No one needs my help, doctor."

"I'm not a doctor." The man steps over to him, extends his hand in a friendly, almost foreign gesture. "Agent Phil Coulson. I'm with the SHIELD. Nice to meet you Captain."

"Shield?" He has memories of the disk, the shield he held in his hands, how smooth it was, how light it was for such a large metallic object. But all of those visceral memories are fake. "How can I help you, sir?"

"Captain, your service in the war is the stuff of legend, I should call you sir, not the other way around," Coulson says.

He smiles but it feels like someone's plastered it on his face. "That's nice, I wish I could believe you, sir. Have the doctors told you why I am here?" He doesn't want to get anyone's hopes up that he'll recover from his injuries. None of the new memories - or the real memories the doctors have told him about - have actually come back. Only the fake ones - they've become more real.

"Yes, Captain. We'd like you to come with us and we'll take care of everything."

"I don't know who you are," he says. "I'm not even sure what my name really is." The name "Steve Rogers" teases at his tongue and he wants to say it, he wants so badly for it to be his name.

"What do you think your name is?"

"Steve Rogers," he blurts out and feels his face flush red with humiliation. He's a fake and he hates himself.

Coulson nods and says, "You do realize that is your real name."

"No, they said I'm not Captain America."

"Yes, that's what they said, but they didn't tell you that your name wasn't Steve Rogers, right?"

The question stuns him; he opens his mouth, and then shuts it. "No?"

"Captain," Coulson says with his hands folded in front of him. "You're name is Steve Rogers."

"Then I'm Captain America."

Coulson tilts his head a little and then says, "You are related. Yes, your predescessor, Captain America aka Steve Rogers, was related to you. Yes."

"But I'm not Captain America, I'm not him."

"You're related to him," Coulson says.

"How?" Steve sits up and feels better, less interested in the stream of pictures on the television. He flicks it off. "How?"

Coulson smiles, encouraged that Steve has taken more of an interest in his story. "Let's get you out of here, and over to SHIELD."

"I still don't know who you are."

"I'm the first person that told you your real name, how long have they withheld that from you?"

It has been months. All they call him by is his number - 07041918. His birthday - but not. They tell him they don't want to call him by his real name because it would confuse his memories processes, that eventually he'll recall and it will be healthier for his damaged brain for him to slowly settle into his real memories without words and names being thrown at him. He never believed them. "We can leave?"

"Yes, Captain, you can leave," Coulson says and with that announcement a woman with dark hair tied in a neat bun, a dark suit, and startling blue eyes walks in. She's carrying a shopping bag. She hands it to Coulson. "We took the liberty of getting you some clothes."

He sets it on the bed, smiles with a little nod, and then they both leave. Steve stands there, staring at the bag, and then at the blank television. His name is Steve Rogers. He does have some connection to Captain America. Why would the doctors hide that from him?

A tapping on the door interrupts him. Coulson leans in and says, "Captain? Are you okay?"

"Yes, sure, I just- I'm good. Thank you Agent Coulson."

The agent shuts the door and Steve looks back at the bag. He's stepping out, going to the real world again. A world he cannot fathom or recognize. What could a government agency possibly want with him? He might not know who he is, not with memories or images from his past, but he knows to his bones, who he is as a person and no hospital or doctors are going to suppress that again. He takes off the robe, toes off the slippers and grabs the bag. He goes to the little bathroom and quickly and efficiently showers. He dries off, shaves with the tiny plastic shaver that doesn't do a good job, and finally dresses. He feels more human than he has in months. A shiver of cold runs through him when he crosses to the door to his hospital room. This is the end of this phase, he's leaving now. He glances at the blackened screen of the television and then rights his shoulders. He's ready to go. He grasps the knob and swings open the door.

Coulson and the woman are waiting. "I'm ready."

The woman smiles. "Agent Maria Hill, glad to have you with us. You'll be meeting the rest of the team on the Helicarrier."

"Helicarrier?" Things are so different now.

"You'll see." Coulson smiles as if he's watching a child at Christmas. "It really is an honor to meet you. I was there, you know, when they-."

Hill clears her throat.

"I was there when you were injured, in the coma," Coulson says.

"Oh," Steve says. He has no recollection of those days. He might remember a baseball game from the wrong day, or maybe a race through the streets of Manhattan but maybe that's one of his real memories mixing with the fake ones. He squeezes the memories away and only nods. He follows them, and the doctors shake their heads as Coulson leads the way.

One of the doctors catches Steve's arm and says, "We were trying to help you, remember that."

He stares at the hand clasping his bicep, the doctor lets go. "Why would I think anything else?"

The doctor pales and it isn't the first time Steve has his doubts.


	4. A Failed Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever read my story Upon Waking, I had this crazy idea that I would be able to write a sequel. I tried several times. And failed several times. This is one of those times....

“Loading dock, damn it,” Tony says as he maneuvers the SUV to the exit. “Pepper’s going to have my head.” He checks on the time on the dashboard clock, curses and follows the wave through by the attendant. 

As the car hits the daylight, he peers around the corner and starts forward to enter the short area of driveway before the street. 

“I didn’t know you had a meeting with Pepper, you should have said something,” Steve says and turns to him just as Tony spots a large truck barreling down the driveway of the building toward them. He twists the steering wheel to veer out of the way, but it’s too late, far too late.

The next moments mash together in a kaleidoscope of sight and sound and sensations. The screech of metal as it bends and crunches with the impact. Tony fights with the wheel, trying to push it to get the tires that are still on the ground to obey him, but fails as the SUV crashes into the side of the building. The boomerang effect jostles them in the cab and pitches them forward and to the side as the Tony loses control. 

A burst of the dashboard, and then air bags deploy. His first thoughts as the delivery truck collides with the panel of the passenger’s side of the vehicle revolve around Steve – protecting him and ensuring his safety. He can’t do anything, though as the SUV skids across the road, slightly tipping from the high center of gravity. Lights and sounds turn into a monstrous invasion on his ability to formulate any coherent thought. Something splatters against his cheek and he struggles to push the air bag away to find out what is happening. 

Before he gathers his startled thoughts, the vehicle rocks and then the delivery truck revs back to bash into the side once more time. Tony screams and fumbles to catch Steve’s arm as he glimpses a smear of blood across Steve’s face. It terrifies him more than the damned truck ramming into their car. 

JARVIS comes on line in the SUV and the alerts sound as well as a warning that further threat will be met with deadly force. The truck side swipes the front bumper of the SUV and rumbles away, picking up speed and disappearing around the corner and into traffic. Everything settles like waves easing to the shore and dying down to simple ripples. 

Panting, Tony curses that the interface with JARVIS he installed isn’t currently up to grade yet. “JARVIS? JARVIS?”

“Sir, I have contacted the authorities and called an ambulance,” JARVIS answers.

He hasn’t placed in the upgrade to JARVIS for monitoring of human data yet, so he turns to Steve and his heart sinks. Eyes closed, Steve lies boneless in his seat with blood dripping from his nose.

“JARVIS, JARVIS!” Tony grabs for Steve at the same time, he tries to free himself from the seatbelt. It’s impossible, and he beats back the air bag to get at Steve. Something’s in his eyes and he shakes as he pounds on the last of the cushion from the airbag. “Damn it, get the ambulance.”

“I have called the ambulance, sir. They will be here in less than one minute. They are only around the corner as I track them.”

“At the damned hospital,” Tony mutters and realizes he’s not tracking and Steve’s not awake, and there’s blood on dripping into his eyes, and he feels nauseous. “JARVIS, get an ambulance.”

“I have already called the ambulance. They have arrived, sir. Please remain calm.” 

“Where are they? Where is the ambulance?” His heart races, throbbing and exploding in his chest. “God damn it, JARVIS, call the ambulance.”

Hands are on him and he beats them back, trying to get to Steve. Someone’s opened the door to the SUV and is talking to him. A brace wraps around his neck and holds him in place. He’s not listening, he wants the ambulance. “Where’re the paramedics? Where?”

“Sir, sir, we’re right here. We’re here.”

“Get Steve, where’s Steve?” Tony says and someone’s strapping him down onto a gurney.


	5. The Captain's Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the never completed sequel to The Captain and His Courtesan. I had a master plan here, but I learned a few lessons along the way about sequels so it was abandoned. Only those of you who have read TCHC will even be interested in this chapter. Hope you like it!

“None of this looks easy,” Steve says as he lounges back at his desk. The chair creaks its protest and he flips through the screens on the pad. 

“Tell me about it,” Bucky says and scratches at the back of his neck. “Kind of makes you nostalgic for the good old days of hauling crap around the Rims.”

Steve peers up at Bucky, the smirk on his face revealing so much more, and then he decides to play along for a bit. Over the years, Steve’s learned that when Bucky wants something, something that he knows Steve would disapprove of, he plays a game of bait and switch. 

“Well,” Steve says and clears his throat. “I don’t know. Kind of like the desk job now. Less danger.”

“Less fun,” Bucky says and taps his metal finger along the polished console of Steve’s commander’s desk. 

“Lot more money, more stability.”

“More boredom,” Bucky says. “Come on, you know that you want to.”

Steve tosses the pad down and sits up, his chair whining again. “Listen, Buck, I know you want to run the Rails during the Conference, but I got responsibilities here.”

“Director Coulson, Phil, can take care of it. You know, numbers give that guy a hard on. Just imagine what a shitload of diplomats at a Peace Conference would do to him-.”

“I’d rather not, thank you very much,” Steve says and stands up. He walks over to the expansive windows of his office on the Capital Living Station of the Inner Belts. 

He can see the stars from here, the vastness of space only an arm’s length away. The scatterings of Way Stations, of planets and moons, and other Living Stations are all just hops along the way of the Dream Stars within the Inner Belts. He used to wish on the first stars he saw as a child in the Rims, hoping to someday live here. Now, all he wants to do is escape.

Bucky sidles up to him and knocks him in the arm with an elbow. “Come on, you know you want to. Leave the negotiations for the damned politicians. Since when are you a politician anyway? You’re a ship’s captain, not a Commander.”

He bows his head not because he wants to deny Bucky, but because he needs to rebuff his offer. Sighing, he says, “I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Bucky says and steps away from Steve for a moment. When Steve looks over his shoulder he glimpses his friend shaking his head. He wonders if it is in frustration or in surrender. He doesn’t want Bucky to give up on him.

He takes a tentative step toward him and says, “Buck.”

“No, Steve, no,” Bucky says. “You need this, you need to get away. Ever since, ever since Stark-.”

“Don’t say it, Bucky, I don’t need you to remind me when Nat and Sam are constantly on my back about it.” Bucky has been his last refuge, his last haven against the memories and the pain that accompany all of the good and the bad. He can no longer think about Tony and what happened without it cutting deeply and into the bone. 

Bucky lets out a pent up breath. He paces around in a small circle in the wide open area of Steve’s office. It’s empty – the office – too empty for Steve’s liking, and it’s far too big. He only wanted a desk and a console to work on, he even offered to do his work on the Howling Commando, his ship, but the nascent government and governors disagreed. The hero of the rebellion should have the best. 

He wasn’t the hero, Tony was.

His thoughts catch on Tony and he frowns. 

“I just think it would be healthy for you to get out of here, breathe fresh, planet side air instead of this recycled crap, get a little sun on your face because seriously pal you look a little vampirish.”

“I’m not even certain that’s a word.”

“It’s a word.”

“Whatever,” Steve says and leans back on his console desk, folding his hands in front of him. “The point is Bucky, I can’t leave the conference since I’m the main negotiator for it. I’m kind of the ringleader.”

“And that’s so much to be proud of,” Bucky mutters. 

Steve wants to take him to task for the remark, but he lets it slide. He knows in his heart Bucky only has the best of intentions when it comes to Steve’s welfare. “I’ll tell you what, you know I can’t run the Rails with you, but maybe I’ll come to a few of the runs, watch, and check things out.”

“It won’t be the same. You’re the only one I can do this with, we were legend as kids in the Rims.”

Steve stands up and wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “You know Sam has it over me ten times over when it comes to flying. He’ll do you good, and he’ll bust your chomps if you dump him for me anyhow.”

“But it won’t be the same,” Bucky says and it borders on whining, something so uncharacteristic it hurts to hear.

Steve slips his arm off of Bucky’s shoulders, and studies him. “Really, Buck, what’s this all about?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably, not looking at Steve and scrubbing a hand through his tangled hair. “I – Nat told me I needed to tell you. I kind of got the short straw and all, but I never drew anything, so I think they just nomina-.”

“Geez, Buck spit it out already.”

“Stark’s coming to the Conference.” Bucky widens his eyes and reminds Steve of someone who’s done one too many Ringers in his life to actually be sane and lucid anymore.

For a moment he nearly topples into the trap, plummets down the slope, falls into the arms of the despair waiting for him at the periphery. Inwardly, he grapples and holds on to his composure, though he feels the hot prickle of pain, the sweat of nights spent alone and longing. He clears his throat and walks to the windows again.

Without glancing back over his shoulder, he says, “You don’t have to worry about me, Buck. You can tell Nat and Sam and whomever else is up in arms about it. I can handle Tony Stark.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I’m sure,” Steve says and gazes out into the community of stars near the Inner Belts. “I’m sure.”

“Look me in the eye and say that,” Bucky prods.

He spins on his heel, suddenly angry and defiant all at once. “I’m fine. You can’t make this easier or nicer for me, Bucky. Running away to play games at the Rails isn’t going to help me. I can handle Sir Stark, I don’t have a proble-.”

“You can’t even say his first name, you haven’t since-.”

“Why should I? Tell me why should I bother to say that his first name after what he did? After the lies he told me?” He curses under his breath for failing to curb his outburst. Nothing Stark did or said caused any of this – this is completely his own fault. He’s to blame for everything. He couldn’t handle it, not Tony. Tony – Tony was fine, good.

“Tell me what he did?” Bucky says. “Because all I know is that he left my best friend alone and now my friend acts like he’s been frozen in ice for another hundred years.”

Steve places a hand on the window and drops his head, leaning heavily on his one arm. “I don’t, I can’t explain it Bucky. What happened wasn’t anything specific, it was more about what couldn’t be.”

“His memory?”

Steve closes his eyes and Tony is there, edged and uncomfortable with Steve’s hands on him, shifting away, but allowing Steve to touch him. “He tried to remember, he did.”

“You said he remembered your name, what it meant?” Bucky says and he’s surprisingly gentle with his words. He’s trying to pull it out of Steve, attempting to drag the truth and all the ugly memories out so that he can wash them away. Steve’s not ready to cleanse his soul, he’ll never forgive himself.

Standing up, he straightens his Commander’s uniform and says, “Doesn’t matter, he’s not part of my life now.”

“Are you so sure?” Bucky says and his tone pierces through trying to melt the wedges of ice Steve’s built around his heart. 

“I’m sure. He can come to the conference. It won’t matter,” Steve says. He goes back to his desk and swings into the chair. Sweeping his hand over the console it lights up and he retrieves the diplomat listings. The conference is huge, it isn’t a small affair; he doubts he’ll even see Tony.

“Steve, he’s gonna be there,” Bucky says and slumps down into the chair opposite the desk again. 

“Bucky, just leave it. Don’t you have Nat to pester?”

“Getting to be more of a punk everyday with your damned commander’s star,” Bucky grumbles and then his shadowed expression captures Steve. “Steve, he’s Tony Stark, who the hell do you think is going to represent Stark Corp at the Peace Conference of all of the Corporations?”

“Potts will do that, she’s the Chief, the Director of Stark-.”

“No, Stark decided, we got the confirmation last night. Sharon sent it to me and Nat,” Bucky says and pulls out a small crystal disc. It looks like a gem from a pendant. “Go ahead, read it.”

Steve only stares at the glittering crystal on his desk. It’s a dark color, not black, but almost auburn and it reminds him of Tony’s hair. He swallows and shakes his head. “If you say he’s the rep, then he’s the rep. What can I do about it?”

“You can damn well let your friends help you out. Come to the Rails, Coulson and Fury are going to deal with this shitty ass conference. You don’t need to be here. You’re not a politician.”

“No, no I’m not,” Steve says and the thought of escaping, wrestling free of his desk and duties suddenly becomes a very real option. Why would he shove it aside without considering it? “Okay, I’ll think about it. Just think about it.”

Bucky hoots and claps his hands as he stands up. “I’m planning it all out. You will not be sorry, you punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve says. “Now get out of here.”

Bucky stands up and pauses before he departs. He rounds the desk and hangs there, hesitating. Finally, he says, “Steve, you got a lot going for you. There are other fish you know, in the cosmos or whatever.”

“I think you mean in the sea,” Steve says.

“Yeah, yeah, but listen, you gotta think about it. You need to let Stark go,” Bucky says.

“I have,” Steve says but doesn’t look up from the data he has streaming on his pad as he compares it to the information on his desk console. 

Bucky waits as if he’s hoping Steve might reveal other things, private things. But Steve hasn’t told anyone what happened, he’s kept it tightly hidden, wound down deep, so the barbs twist and stab only into his heart. When Steve remains silent, Bucky huffs in frustration and then says, “Seriously, buddy, you need to get laid.”

He marches to the door but not before Steve replies, “Isn’t that how this whole mess started, pal?”

Standing at the door, Bucky grabs the frame and laughs. “Bastard.”

“Go play with Nat or something and get out of my hair,” Steve says and smiles.

Bucky nods and then says, “Have a good one Steve, see you later?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says and waves him off. 

He tries to get lost in his work, after all someone has to see to the security and figure out how the hell they are going to forge a new government now that the interim one has failed so completely and devastatingly. Logically he knows that the interim government he and Fury set up was never supposed to last forever, he’s also very much aware how it failed on so many levels.

The trade routes are in chaos, the Rims are fighting off incursions from alien races, and Asgard is still lobbying for assistance from the Dark Elves invasion. “At least with the Main Chamber things worked.”

“Display all active corporations, their holdings, representatives, and their governors,” Steve says and the console lights up in soft hues of blue. Every time he uses it, his thoughts drift back to Tony. He recalls lying with Tony in the guest quarters on his ship the Howling Commando and watching the stars projected above their heads. It had been sappily romantic and he still loves to daydream about those days. 

He needs to focus on his work; the Peace Conference opens in three standard days. The attendees are already arriving and his plate is full ensuring their security and evaluating what will be the best way to get these disparate fractions talking to one another. Loosely tied together colonies and systems hasn’t worked. Steve’s spent an inordinate amount of time reading over the earliest and ancient histories of the revolutions on Earth. Trying to understand the psychology of the human race seems pointless and futile at times.

He accesses the current list of attendees. Frowning, he still cannot understand why Fury insists on allowing some of these corporations and groups agency. They deserve less than nothing in some aspects. Over the course of the human history in space, corporations, unions, and guilds as well as some less savory types like Ringers and Pirates have succeeded in attaining person rights. In Steve’s mind that’s all kinds of wrong.

He initiates the holographic projection of the Conference site and starts to move the players in place, much like a chess game with an opponent twelve times better than he could possibly hope to be.

“It’s about time, Commander.”

Steve recognizes Fury’s voice without even turning around. “Nick?”

“You got a big ass number of issues to deal with. I need you to focus on the big three players, not all these little ones.” Fury steps up to the display. He still hasn’t replaced his computerized eye, it had once been enhanced, a vulnerability that the artificial intelligence of Ultron tried to hijack. He wears a black eye patch that matches his long leather coat. 

“In order to find out what the main security issues are I need to know what all the players are doing. You can’t command soldiers without knowing the battlefield,” Steve says. 

“This isn’t a battlefield, Cap,” Fury says. 

Steve smiles as he glances over at the former director of SHIELD. Most of his close friends and confidants still think of him as Captain. He doesn’t correct them because he clings to the designation as well. 

“It is when you get thirteen of the most ruthless groups together vying for power in the same place asking them to negotiate a new government, especially when the first try failed so spectacularly.” He sweeps his hand over the map and the geography changes showing the setting of the Peace Conference.

“Spectacularly is too nice a word for what happened, you know that right?” Fury says and he places his hands on hips and studies the map. “You gotta tell me, Cap, how you’re planning on keeping the peace throughout this whole fiasco.”

“Putting a bunch of enemies together on the Lemurian Star probably isn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Steve says with a shoulder shrug. “And I have to say I’m not fond of being your janitor and cleaning up your messes.”

“Since when is this conversation about me?” Fury asks. 

Steve scoffs at Fury and then pulls up the assignment list once more. “What can I do for you, director?”

“Stop calling me that,” Fury says and walks around the table so that he’s directly opposite of Steve. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Generally that means I’m going to be going on some kind of mission that will get my ass kicked and several of my team members will be doing their own mission. I’ll have to say no thank you.” 

“You know, I think I liked you with enough debt to choke a whole planet,” Fury says. “And your team went to the Rims to try and settle that dispute all by your lonesome without any push from me-.”

“Only because no one cares about what happens out in the Rims, still. It’s disgraceful.”

“And I didn’t write your ass up, be grateful. Plus I’m the one who gave you the intel on that mission,” Fury says and glares at Steve. “I share, I’m nice like that.”

“Once again,” Steve says and crosses his arms. “I must ask, what brings you here in the middle of the night, director.”

“Stop calling me that,” Fury replies. “And I need you to accept a new assignment without any hassles.”

“I don’t think I like it at all-.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“I can tell it’s bad because if the great Nick Fury is shivering in his black leather boots, something really horrible is lurking.”

“Just stop,” Fury says. “The big three are coming in first to have their little meet and greet. We need security detail for them.”

“Already handled,” Steve says and taps out the sequence on the console. It switches graphics and a virtual list of the players appears with a number of branches from each detailing the responsible parties for keeping everyone in line.

“No, Cap, I don’t think so,” Fury says and goes to the desk. He calls up his own images removing Steve’s and grimaces as he does. “You’re not going to like this but you have to do it. So, just, get over it quick.”

Steve narrows his eyes as he focuses on the barrage of data scrolling over the virtual graphics. He stops on the scan and hits the key to pause it. “No, I won’t, I can’t.”

“You will and you have to,” Fury says. “You know he’s holding most of the power in the Belts, hell, he’s probably got a bit of the Rims and the Outers with him as well with his humanitarian missions plastered all over the Rag-nets and Grids.”

Steve fists his hands and clenches his jaw. He shakes his head, and then reaching out to Fury, hoping to appeal to his friend. He keeps his eyes averted. “You can’t ask me to do this.”

“I already have.” Fury stands his ground and his voice throws ice on any hope Steve has of wheedling out of the assignment. 

“Damn it, Nick,” Steve says and glares at Fury. “You know how we left things.”

“I know Stark requested you, and only you. He won’t participate in the Peace Conference unless you are assigned as his personal bodyguard.”

“I’m the Commander of the Honor Guard, I shouldn’t have to-.” He hisses through his teeth and tries not to let the surge of helplessness, the remembered feelings as he forced Tony to leave to overcome him. He won’t breakdown in front of the director. He always keeps his shields intact.

“No, you shouldn’t, but you will,” Fury says and starts toward the door. Steve doesn’t try and stop him, only stands shocked and still and sinking into the memories. “I’m sorry, Cap, if that means anything.”

He glances over at Fury and shakes his head. “No, no it doesn’t.”

“Then I am truly sorry.” He leaves without a further word and Steve turns back to the display.

He stares at it for a number of minutes, unmoved and frozen as he watches the winking lights of the projection flicker about him. He recalls a time he stood on the greatest Way Station of them all, the Chromes Domes. The suite of rooms on the upper branches of the domes, a place he thought he would never see, he shared with Tony Stark – Courtesan of the Guild. Desired, mysterious, handsome. It all went to hell then, shortly after he and Tony were thrown into a war and they turned over the Human Space, revolted against the insidious Ultron and his legion of drones. 

“All for what price,” Steve says and wipes his hand across the console, clearing it and plunging the room into darkness. He stays perfectly still, letting the silence, the void of space wash over him. He longs for the cockpit of his bucket of bolts, the Howling Commando again. The long journeys, the reverie of night watch. It was simpler then, and yet – he ignored responsibility, aspired to nothing. 

“What am I now?” He closes up and decides it’s best to get back to his quarters. 

He marches through the corridors of the Capital Living Station; he needs to set his boots on soil, touchdown and go planet side for a while. His life isn’t his own anymore, though he can’t remember a time it really was. It occurs to him then that while he was in the middle of concocting a rebellion, he’d actually had control over his life for the first time in over a century. He’d been a part of something bigger than himself, he’d been carried away with its ideals and the momentum of freedom and justice, but it felt right and good. It felt like him; his identity. 

The station is quiet, though there really isn’t a sleep cycle or a night. There are times that life ebbs and flows. Humans cannot get over the idea of day and night and the cycle of daily life. He heads to the lifts and checks over his pad. He’ll have to break the news to Bucky; he won’t like it but there’s not much Steve can do about it.

Tony Stark is one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful person in the whole of Human Space. 

“How’d that happen,” he mutters as he steps onto the elevator.

“Commander?” The automated response from the lift startles him.

“Nothing, living quarters section three.”

“Yes, Commander.”

He sends a message to Bucky, informing him that he has an assignment he can’t get out of, that running the Rails is out of the picture for him. Having to deal with Tony Stark is going to be a lesson in patience and restraint. He tucks the pad back into his chest pocket and straightens his jacket. 

Leaving the elevator, he strides down the hallway toward his living quarters. He climbs a few stairs that are more for decoration that anything else. He slots his thumb into the reader and the door clicks open. Once he passes through the threshold, he exhales and slumps down in a seat not far from the entranceway. Sitting in the dark, he tries not to let the frozen silence penetrate into his senses, but with each day it becomes more of a battle. 

Unsnapping his jacket, he tugs it off and lays his head back on the cushion of the chair while he stares off into the dark shadows surrounding him. Nothing around him feels like him, nothing fits. He lives in a place that feels more like Way Station than the comfort of a home – like the Howling Commando had been, like Tony had been.

He mouths _Tony_ but doesn’t voice the name, because in the end Bucky’s right, always right. He can’t say Tony’s name, he can’t face what happened between them. He’s lived as a monk since they separated as if he’s waiting for Tony to waltz back into his life and sweep him into their dance again. 

Tony is coming back – but in a very different role, as a very different person than Steve had known and grown to love. In the end, a person suffering from amnesia who only had figments of life and memories isn’t the same as the person he loved. Half the time, he felt as if he was mourning Tony’s death while Tony was in his arms.

“What is it, Captain my Captain?” Tony had asked, as he kissed a line up Steve’s throat.

The endearment – Captain my Captain – sounded forced, rang false somehow when Tony whispered it into his ear after his brush with Ultron, death by Mjolnir, resurrection, and resulting loss of memories. Steve ignored it, or tried to but it became more and more evident that Tony was groping around, searching for purchase, for some link to his former life and failing. 

Steve confronted him. He hates thinking about the argument that ensued. He avoids memories of it. It only makes him feel dirty, perverse, and disgusted with himself. He’d thought everything was going to be all right, that Tony remembered. All he felt like afterward was an abuser. 

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Tony claimed afterward, when Steve asked, probed, nearly crossed the line to bullying him into a confession. “I wanted to do this, you have to know I wanted to do this.” 

“You wanted, what?” Steve had said, incredulous and pained. The hot ache of truth scolded him. “You wanted me to fuck you so you’d remember? I told you I wouldn’t do that, not until you were better.” He’d felt destroyed, utterly selfish and broken at the same time. The diametrically opposing emotions got the better of him as he fumbled with his clothes, gathering them up, getting off the bed. The thought of what he’d just done, what they’d just done shook him to the core; his hands trembled as he struggled to put on his clothes. “This isn’t some damned vid, Tony, this is us, now, today. There’s no such thing as a healing cock.”

Tony almost laughed at his words; Steve saw the flittering possibilities of sarcastic comebacks tickle his tongue and he had played with it, but good sense stopped him. He slumped down on the bed. “I thought that if we gave it a try, I’d remember, I’d remember more.”

His voice seemed to echo in the small space – but it grew in strength as he spoke the words in a whisper. 

“But you’re remembering little by little, right?” Steve had said, assured that his supposition was correct. It hadn’t been. When Tony looked up at him, his eyes wet and lost, Steve knew the truth. “You don’t remember.”

Tony shook his head and then bowed it. “Nothing, I keep trying. But nothing.”

“How’d you know about the Chromes, what we did there? How’d you know about anything at all?”

He had lifted a shoulder. “It wasn’t hard to piece together.” He picked at his eyes as if to clean them from sleep, but it wasn’t sleep – it wiped away the tears. “I just wanted to remember something, Captain. I wanted to have some of my life back. JARVIS told me some of it, what he could.”

“The rest?”

He laughed but it held no humor. “It isn’t hard, not with a few tricks to get people to talk and tell you stories.”

“Oh,” Steve tried to formulate an adequate response, but nothing came to his brain. Everything went incredibly, horribly blank. He stared at the floor of their cabin, didn’t think to breath, or blink. “Oh.” It was all he could muster.

Even now, as Steve turns over the events in his head, a pang deep and devastating exists. He can’t wipe it away. Tony hadn’t know him, though he professed he felt something for Steve as if he was a shadow of a memory. Tony had asked for patience, Steve couldn’t give it to him.

“Why, why not?” Tony had said, his voice raising in anger. 

“I can’t, you aren’t even-.” Steve clipped off his words and walked down the corridor trying to escape Tony’s hurt expression. Explaining to Tony that any interaction with him had been more like talking with a stranger was harder than Steve expected. Instead, he’d said something softer, “You don’t remember your time as a Courtesan.”

Tony took it the wrong way. The words riled him up and he flung insults and barbs at Steve. “Are you looking for a high class whore? Is that who you want? What you want? I thought you were the Captain of the Honor Guard. You’re the guy my father couldn’t shut up about? You?”

It dug into him but he allowed the mistaken conclusion. It would be easier that way. Tony didn’t need to know that Steve loved him, but looking at him and talking to him was like a caricature of his former self. He’d wanted to discuss his pain, how Tony as a Courtesan had invaded Steve’s life, and then slowly unwound it, teasing out all the knots, and straightening his head and his heart. Tony as a Courtesan was different than Tony, Sir Stark, or Tony the Engineering genius. Tony as a Courtesan had a mission.

Now, that Tony is a memory and Steve must face the world and all of Human Space alone. Bucky accused him of living like a monk. “He’s not wrong,” Steve murmurs into the dark and no one answers. It’s been so long since he’s touched or been touched by anyone. He shouldn’t care, he loved and was loved in return. It should be enough.

“But it’s not,” Steve says and hungers for more. He decides he should catch some sleep before dealing with Bucky’s disappointment regarding the Rails. He ignores the insistent icon on his pad, he’ll deal with Bucky tomorrow. He needs to sleep; he strips down and finds his way to his bedroom. He never decorated it; there had been a time he would draw for hours in the cockpit of the Howling Commando. 

He never picks up pencil or stylists anymore. He doesn’t even know where his art supplies are. He thinks a psychologist would have a field day with him. Throwing himself down on the mattress, he lies with eyes open for hours. Sleep doesn’t come. She’s become a difficult mistress these days. 

“Tony,” he whispers and his heart hammers a beat in his chest. 

For the first time in a long time, he both fears and cannot wait for the coming days.

CHAPTER 2  
Over the course of the next days, Steve successfully avoids Bucky. The business of full delegations of officials from all of the major Corporations, Guilds, and Territories keeps him overwhelmed, as well as gives him a good excuse to use when Bucky beats down his door looking for him. 

He puts him off until only an hour before the arrival of the Stark delegation. Natasha has flown the newly renovated Commando into its bay. She’ll be escorting some of the ships with delegates on board as they make their way to the new Heli-carrier, the Lemurian Star. 

Steve meets her at the bay. “Natasha, how’s the old bucket of bolts?” He grabs her hand, but she pulls him in for a quick hug.

“Still waiting for her Captain to come back,” Natasha replies and gives him a quick peck on the cheek before stepping back to assess him. She raises an eyebrow. “I thought Buck was watching out for you? When’s the last time you slept?”

“I sleep, just not as much as everyone else,” Steve says and tries to throw her off – which is stupid because Natasha can always read people as if she has an inside line to their brains. 

“I didn’t ask how much sleep you need, I asked if you got any lately,” Natasha says and peers around him. “Where’s Buck? I thought he’d be trailing around you like a puppy.”

“That’s not very nice to say about the man you love,” Steve says and ushers her through the bay to the main docking lounge. 

“That’s a little presumptuous of you,” Natasha says and heads for the serving bar. “I haven’t had any fresh fruit in forever. I swear I’m going to get rickets or something.”

He smirks. “I doubt that very much.” He trails after her, picking at the food as she fills a plate. “You need to check in and then you’ll get your assignment.”

“This all sounds fun and all, but I would feel more comfortable if the Howling Commando had her Captain back.” She accept a drink from the man tending bar and strolls over to the check in kiosks. She dumps her plate, utensils, napkin, and drink into his arms and turns back to the console to start registration. “Do you know what group we’ll be escorting to the Lemurian Star?”

“Not sure yet,” Steve says. “Depends on the actual attendance.” He notices she’s bypassing several of the security procedures. “You can’t do that Natasha, you have to-.”

She snickers. “Really, Rogers?” Somehow she jumps through the hurdles and finishes without answering and completing the security checkpoints. “Tell me, Rogers, is that the best you can do with security?”

“It’ll work with people who don’t make being a double agent a profession.”

She takes her plate back but doesn’t load herself up with the rest, so he’s obligated to follow her to one of the tables in the back of the lounge. She slides into a booth and lifts her chin to invite him to join her. “Sit down, Cap, we have some things to go over.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Should you?”

Sighing, he sits opposite her. “What?”

“So, we’re taking these children to the Lemurian Star only to move them to a secure location.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Reason?”

“You know the reason,” he says. “Or you’ve already guessed it.” 

She rolls her eyes and smiles, that sweet kind of smile only predators use to lure their prey closer. “Tell me, Rogers, do you know which of the Corps is the big bad this time?”

Crossing his arms, he considers her bait but doesn’t take it. “I have my ideas. But this isn’t the time or the place to discuss them.”

“You jerk, you punk.” The catcalls come from the entrance to the lounge and Steve looks up to see Bucky marching toward him, war on his face. 

Bracing for the worst, Steve stands up and raises his hands. “Bucky, I-.”

“No, Bucky this, or Bucky that, you’re supposed to run the Rails with us.” Bucky swivels around Steve, fingers waves his metal hand at Natasha, but then turns right back to Steve. “We can’t win this thing without you.”

“I might not be able to d-.”

“Did you hear what’s going on? What he’s up to?” Bucky says and shoves Steve back into the booth. He pushes into the bench across from Natasha, squishing Steve into the corner. 

Natasha glances between the two and then picks at her food. “No, but I think you’re going to tell me.”

“He agreed to escort Stark around, be his security guard.”

“I didn’t exactly agree, I didn’t volunteer.”

“What? You gonna tell me you were voluntold?” Bucky hisses. “Not only does it mean this whole shebang is going to start all over again with Stark and him mooning like a babyfaced school kid, but it also means he won’t be free of his duties on time for the Rails.”

Leave it to Bucky to make Steve feel like that skinny kid from the Rims all those years ago. Natasha glares at him, but offers him space to explain himself. 

“I didn’t volunteer. Stark requested me, and since-.”

“Stark Corp has suddenly become the biggest and most wealthy Corp around-.”

“Bucky, it isn’t like Stark Corp is feeding off of the Rims and Outers, it isn’t like that at all. You know that. He’s got humanitarian missions and foundations,” Steve says and feels his throat tighten up. “That’s it, I’m not fighting about this with you. This is my duty, I have to do what I’m assigned.”

Natasha folds her hands and places her elbows on the table. “I think we’re more concerned about you than we are about some silly Rail contest, aren’t we Bucky?”

Bucky manages to growl in a half muffled mutter and shakes his head.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about,” Steve says and fists his hands under the table. “Stark and I are a thing of the past. I’ll do my duty as a part of the Honor Guard. He’s one of the most important delegates to the Peace Conference. He might be able to do some good for the little guy.” He knows he’s appealing to Bucky’s sense of justice, but hell at this point he’ll hang onto any good will he can get from his friend.

“After what he did-.”

Steve slashes the air with his hand. “You have got to stop, Bucky. Stark didn’t do anything. He ended up with amnesia after saving the damned Human Space. I wanted something from him, but he wasn’t that person. If it hurt me, it was my own damned fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says and turns his face away, as if he’s ashamed of the emotions he feels. “I just want my friend to, you know, not be so god damned pitiful.” It sounds like an insult but it isn’t.

“It’ll be fine.”

“When do you get your peace? You know, you’re always at war. I don’t think you signed on for this when they injected that magic potion in you,” Bucky says and shares a quiet look with Natasha. 

“I don’t think that’s reve-.”

“There you are,” Fury says as he strides up to the table. His long leather coat, dark glasses, and scowl turning Steve rigid. 

“Sir?”

“Not a sir,” Fury says. “Stark’s ship’s coming in. You are to escort him to his lounge until he’s assigned to a ship for transport.”

“You don’t know his assignment yet?” Natasha asks.

“One way to keep our enemies at bay, lottery draw at the last minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Like I said, not a sir,” Fury says and steps away from the booth so that Bucky can slip out and Steve can exit. 

Steve nudges Bucky out of the way, and then frowns at Fury. “Well, tell me what you want me to call you, and better yet give me an idea of what your position is, then I might get it right sometimes.”

“You know, he’s been hanging around with you too much Barnes,” Fury says. “Bay thirty-two. You’re going to be late.”

“I got it,” Steve says and goes to leave, but before he does he faces Bucky. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, go,” Bucky says and waves him off. 

Even as he jogs out of the lounge and into the main bay area, Steve cannot help but feel as if he’s let Bucky down. He frowns and slows down. He doesn’t want to seem over anxious. For some reason as he approaches bay thirty two, he wishes he had his shield. His back feels open, vulnerable, and naked as he rounds the corner into the massive bay of the luxury liner. He gasps as he lays eyes on the Stark Corp ship. It’s a beauty as well as huge, and he can only see a portion of it, since part of the liner is outside the Station. 

Stunned at its sheer size and the line of it – it reminds him of Tony and his Iron Man armors. He scans the great ship. Bay thirty-two harbors only the largest ships and it is clear that this one has to be one of the largest ships outside the Honor Guard fleet and the Project Insight Heli-carriers. Fathoming the wealth and power behind such a large personal possession humbles him and astonishes him at the same time. He paces down the length of the red ship with its gold accents. There’s nothing not designed and beautiful about it. This is a masterpiece of engineering and design. It is pure artistry. 

He wishes he could see the inside of it, but realizes he probably never will. He swallows back his regrets and, as the ramp way hisses open, rights his brain to focus on the present and not the lost hopes of the past. 

He expects a large entourage, but once again he’s surprised by Tony. Rhodes and Potts with Happy trailing behind them walk down the ramp and search the bay. Only Steve’s identified Honor guards have been cleared to attend the ship. The guards will take care of all the duties, including maintenance or any other administrative issues. 

He nods to Pepper and Happy, and gives Rhodes a quick salute that is more honorary than required since Rhodes left the Patrol in the first year of the interim government. He offers a salute back and shifts his stance to indicate the man of the hour is disembarking. There’s a warning in Rhodes expression; as if he’s disapproving of something, or someone. For a moment, Steve thinks it is him. Rhodes always challenged him to be better to Tony. 

But then, Tony appears – and he’s not alone. A man is on his arm, his features are reminiscent of someone Steve knows, or knew; he’s sure of that. It shocks Steve. He has to fight for control, not to either dash out of the bay or to throttle Tony. The possessive feel raging in him is illogical and he has no right. 

He catches Rhodes expression and he clearly does not approve of the pairing. He telegraphs his displeasure to Steve, and something else – Steve nods in understanding. He’ll talk with Rhodes and Pepper who has stepped to the side of the former First Patrol officer and shows concern. 

Stepping up to the parties, Steve stands at ease and greets them. “Sir Stark, welcome to the Living Station of the Inner Belts.”

“Always a pleasure to see you, Captain,” Tony says and his eyes twinkle as if he’s playing a game. He’s the cat and Steve’s the mouse.

He strikes back. “It’s Commander now, Sir.”

“Is it now?” Tony looks him up and down with a smirk. “You’ll always be Captain to me.” Though the tone isn’t unkind, it is far from fond. It lashes into Steve until he’s barely able to stand there while holding his tongue. 

He surveys the party as he settles his bitterness and tries to ignore the burning heat of embarrassment on his face. “That’s kind of you to say, Sir.” He picks his words not only carefully but with some amount of attack. “Perhaps you would like to check your manifest for the trip to the Lemurian Star.”

Tony pats the man’s hand wrapped around his arm and says, “All of us will be going.”

Steve yanks out his pad, and pounds on the manifest. “I’ll need names.” He fears his hands might be trembling. He knows his face is hot with anger. 

“Well,” Tony says. “You know everyone here, but my intended.”

Steve clears his throat, throws out a smile he hopes it’s pinched and says, “Good to meet you?”

The man whose robust and dark haired with fair skin that looks ruddy underneath, pulsing and livid leans forward and offers his hand. “Commander Rogers, Tiberius Stone. I believe you may have met my father.”

“Yes,” Steve says through clenched teeth. He tucks the pad away after entering the name, and clasps Stane’s hand with a quick shake. “Your father and I did have some interaction.”

He looks acceptably contrite. “I’m sorry about that, Commander. Please don’t hold the sins of the father against the son.”

“No, of course not,” Steve says and slides his gaze to Pepper for a moment. It turns over in his gut; he knows it’s wrong to consider the father and son as one and he’s ashamed of his reaction. The fact remains though that he tastes bile in the back of his mouth and cannot trust himself.

“Thank you, Commander, I do appreciate your ability to let bygones, be bygones.”

“Yes,” Steve says and stiffens as he glimpses a wary expression fleetingly exposed on Tony’s face and then his candid expression disappears and he tugs on Tiberius’ arm.

“The Captain has always been fair, haven’t you?”

“Maybe not always, Sir,” Steve says and feels the old wound open inside of his chest. “Maybe not always.” For the first time, he sees a slight shade of pity in Tony’s eyes and it only serves to anger Steve. He chews his immediate response; he recognizes that with everything concerning Tony, what’s going on is more complex than what’s on the surface. “Sir, this way.” 

He leads the entire party through the bay, several of his hand-picked Honor Guard fall into step behind them. They are armed to the teeth and he acknowledges them with a quick and short salute. 

As they wind their way into the waiting lounge suites for the delegates, Steve ushers them into the rooms. The party enters and mingles in the main living room of the rooms. It will take a few hours before they are moved to their next part of the journey. 

Tiberius pulls Steve aside as he’s about to introduce the members of the party to the accommodations of the suite. Tiberius tries to use his height to intimidate, Steve knows the type, but they are equally matched. Instead, Stane steps into Steve’s personal space.

“I wanted to assure you that I am not my father,” Tiberius says.

“Thank you, Sir Stane.”

“See, even there it sounds like my father,” Tiberius says. “I know a little about what happened to you. I have some of my father’s records. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t remember any of it.”

The thought of Tony not recalling, not remembering all the horror wrapped up in Obadiah Stane hurts, even though Steve shouldn’t feel this way. He can’t help throwing a barb across the bow. “Thankfully?”

Stane places a hand on Steve’s upper arm. “Of course, I would hate for him to have those nightmares on top of all the others.”

“Nightmares?” Steve says. 

“He’s getting better, I swear it. We’ve been working on it.” Tiberius says. “We’ve been friends for half a life time, you know. We went to university together. I have to admit, we were more than friends. At first, we were competitors. My father had a small corp at the time. Rivals would be a good way to put it.” He keeps his eyes on Tony the entire time he speaks.

“Rivals, but now betrothed?” Steve says and tries to plaster a smile on his face. He thinks he fails, miserably.

Tiberius chuckles and walks over the bar. He pours bourbon, and shows the bottle to Steve. He waves off the offer. “Can you believe it? I have to admit, I wanted him when he was a Courtesan. Just thinking of him, wow. I wanted that.”

Steve keeps his hands in fists by his side. “I wouldn’t think that’s a proper way to talk about one of the most influential, powerful men in Human Space.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Tiberius says and throws his head back to bark out laughter that cuts the air. He drinks down the tumbler of Bourbon. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful. But just man to man. You know how it is. He’s one hell of an ass to dri-.”

“I suggest, Stane, that you consider how you refer to your intended to others. While you may say you respect Sir Stark, your actions do not show it.” He moves to leave, but Tiberius stops him.

“Remember, Commander Rogers, that’s Sir Stane to you.”

“Really? We won a revolution to wipe out the class system. I would think you would get that since you were opposed to your father’s actions.”

“Opposed?” Tiberius looks Steve up and down with a snarl on his lips. “Did I say opposed?”

Through gritted teeth, Steve says, “No, I suppose you didn’t.”

Before Tiberius responds, Tony interrupts, walking over to them and smiling. “Please don’t tell me you’re trading stories over here?”

“I suppose you can call it that,” Steve says and forces his voice not to turn into a growl. 

Tiberius bends over, hulking over Tony with mass alone. He plants a kiss on Tony’s forehead like he’s a child instead of a lover. Steve nearly shifts away trying to escape, but he notices something, slight and subtle; Tony recoils. The reaction is so miniscule, Steve thinks he might have imagined it, but then Tony locks eyes with him and there’s something quiet and haunting there.

“Oh don’t worry about it,” Tiberius says. “It’s all good.”

“All?” Tony says and he jokes. “I hope not all good?” 

Tiberius laughs again, too loud and too awkward but Tony joins in and knocks Steve on the arm. Steve smiles and it cracks his face. He pushes past the uncomfortable stretch of time. “Sir, please relax while I get your assignment for transport.”

“No need for that,” Tony says. “I’m not taking anything other than the Commando.”

Tiberius glowers at Tony. “Now, Tones, we already talked about letting the Commander do his job.”

“And he’ll do his job on board his ship.”

“The Commando isn’t really fitted for a large party,” Tiberius replies, he’s practically in Tony’s face.

“It’s been refitted actually. It has a third deck of quarters for guests and crew,” Steve says. With that statement, Tony shares a smile with Steve as if they are school boys and have pulled one over on their teacher. He returns his smile and it feels good and he chastises himself for that small victory.

Tiberius boils but only sticks with a fake smile. “Well, then the gang’s all here.”

Steve puts his hands up and says, “This isn’t exactly how we wanted to do this.”

“Well, it’s not planned so it’s just like a lottery, only we rigged it.” Tony winks at him and Rhodes wanders over. He stands to the side as if adding a solid wall of protection for Tony. Steve doesn’t know where Happy and Pepper disappeared. 

Steve nods because he truly wants to put Tony on his ship, in a place he can control. “Sure, I’ll see what I can do. If you’ll excuse me?” Steve moves off to leave, but Tony catches him in the vestibule of the suite.

“Captain,” Tony says.

He turns and notices that Tony looks small, lost, almost abused. He wants to know, has to know. “Yes?”

Tony peers over his shoulder and then back to Steve. “It’s nice to see you again. It will be good to spend some time, catching up?”

“Yes, it will,” Steve replies and narrows his eyes as he looks at Stane. Something is off-kilter, wrong, and imbalanced. Steve needs to get him alone; but would Tony be willing and open to it is another question. “Perhaps when we get to the Lemurian Star?”

“Hopefully, before that Captain, hopefully,” Tony says and leaves Steve to rejoin his party. 

Steve pauses before he exits, and then checks in with his identified Honor Guard members for Tony and his party security. It will take some doing to get the Stark Corp assigned to the Howling Commando, and since the party will need to leave in less than twenty four hours. The timing and scheduling for the security of the different delegates is precise and needs adherence.

Heading toward the Main Honor Guard offices on the upper deck of the Station, he bumps into Clint as he hurries down the corridor. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Clint says, taking up pace next to him.

“Maybe,” Steve says. Clint stayed on as Natasha’s navigator. He looks less hassled and more focused. He’s fairly famous for his invention of the hyper-skip; a maneuver that cuts considerable time off of interstellar travel by days or weeks depending on destinations and locales. 

Clint shoves an arm in front of him to halt his progress. He stumbles and whizzes around to face his former navigator. “Nat sent me.”

“To check up on me?”

“Something like that,” Clint says. “But tell me she’s wrong.”

“She’s not,” Steve says. “Tony’s with Stane.”

“What? I thought Stane was dead, killed by Ultron’s legion drones.” 

“Don’t give me that look, I’m not crazy,” Steve says. “His son or nephew or something, Tiberius. He’s Tony’s intended. Tiberius Stane.”

“Damn he was going by Stone for a while. Must have changed it when his father died, but then now he has no shame I suppose. Shit, man, sorry. Stark’s getting married? That’s rough.” Clint shakes his head and tsks a few times.

“That’s not it,” Steve replies, then reconsiders. “Okay, it’s part of it, but Tony didn’t look happy. He looked, not terrified and not frightened, more suspicious like he’s putting on an act for a reason.”

“Are you sure it’s not due to your history? It is rough, you know.” Clint offers him a look of consolation. “We could catch a drink or something. How much time do you have before you gotta be back at it?”

“I never left it,” Steve says and tugs Clint into a short corridor to the side of the main access to the Honor Guard offices. “Listen, I need some help.”

Clint quirks a brow and says, “As always, Cap, it would be my genuine pleasure.”

“Then I need whatever you can get on Tiberius. Something is up, and it isn’t good.”

“Are you sure it just isn’t jealousy. Losing the love of your life can make you do stupid things. “ He rubs the back of his neck and adds. “I lost my dog once-.”

“Geez, Clint, no,” Steve says. “No, I know how this might look, but it’s not that. Remember when Stark first came on the Commando? You remember how elusive he was.”

“Hard to get is more like it.”

“He was always filled with riddles, a puzzle-.”

“Like he had a master plan,” Clint supplies. “Yeah, yeah, and it was to take down his sponsor all along like you said. You told me he had planned to burn Ultron and gut the whole of the hegemony of the Main Chamber.”

“Wow, big words-.”

“What? I read,” Clint scoffs. He peers out to the main deck and then moves back to face Steve. “But I get you, he’s acting cagey?”

“I think he’s up to something and this Tiberius is the key.” Steve cannot believe for one minute that Tony would truly intend to marry Tiberius. Even if Tony hadn’t remembered everything that happened, he’d have some information from Pepper. Pepper would never let something like this happen. “I need you to check it out, look around. Find out what you can and do it quick.”

“Quick?”

“Looks like we’re getting the gang back together again,” Steve says. “Stark taking the Commando to the Lemurian Star.”

“We don’t have much time to figure out what’s up with this character, Tiberius, then,” Clint says. “As soon as you input the selection, Nat and I will be called in to the do the checks. I might have an hour, tops.”

“Do what you can,” Steve says. “I’m going to start the whole ball rolling and then I’m going to go and find Pepper.”

“Potts?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “If anyone knows what Tony’s up to it will be Pepper.”

 

“Okay, see you in a few,” Clint says and starts away.

“Hey,” Steve calls and ducks out of the corridor. “Thanks.”

“Anything, Captain.”

Steve smiles and shakes his head as he looks down at his Commander’s star. He’s not even sure why he bothers to wear it anymore. Bowing his head, he half smiles and then reports in at the Honor Guard. When he runs through the sequences to assign the Stark party to the Howling Commando, he finds it’s already signed off on and twists his lips at the blinking screen.

Turning, he bumps into Fury standing behind him. “Do you have an explanation?”

“What Stark wants, Stark gets?” Steve says. “Listen, Nick, I don’t have a lot of time and I have more to do than I want to explain right now. Just let it ride.”

Something about Steve’s attitude must tip Fury off because he backs away and down, stepping out of Steve’s path. “Okay, Commander, do what’s necessary, but remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Trust no one,” Fury says as if it’s a dismissal. He stares after Fury as the man weaves his way through the busy station. 

“Getting a little tired of spy warnings,” Steve says and heads back to the lounge. He checks the time and notes that the Commando will have less than half an hour to get prepared for launch. That doesn’t leave much time for Clint to hunt down anything on Tiberius. Steve hopes he might be able to catch Pepper alone before they have to board for transport to the Lemurian Star.

After he checks at a kiosk to ensure transfer of his baggage to the Commando, he moves to find Pepper at the lounge. He’s lucky when the Honor Guard assigned to the small suite of rooms shows him into the main sitting area because Tony and Tiberius are absent. Pepper sits at one of the desk console and busies herself with work.

“Ms. Potts?” Steve says while silently dismissing the Honor Guard. She glances up and an ambiguous shift of emotions crosses her face. Torn, he thinks she must feel a certain amount of fealty to him as well as her boss and friend, Tony. “May I speak with you?”

Looking around as if searching for someone, she releases a breath when she realizes she’s alone. “Okay, but I’m not sure how much time we actually have.”

He agrees; he doesn’t need an audience for this conversation. Gesturing to the cushioned chairs, he leads her to them and once she’s settled, he sits as well. Elbows on knees, leaning forward but trying not to intimidate, Steve says, “How are you?”

“Fine, I’m sure Commander that you didn’t come to speak with me about how I’m doing.”

“If it matters, I do care,” Steve says. She had offered him kindness once, when Tiberius’ father only offered cruelty. She’s part of the reason he survived. He often thinks of her fondly, but does not call up any memories of what happened when they were both tortured by Ultron. 

“Of course you do,” she says and her voice is soft and not mocking.

Sighing, he jumps in. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Going on?” 

He hopes she’s not going to play coy but he might not be able to stop it. He presses his lips together in a thin line. “Please.”

She doesn’t raise her head when she speaks again, but stares blankly at her folded hands. “Capta-Commander, this is complicated.”

“Everything with Sir Stark is complicated,” Steve says.

“That’s true. I should tell you that I informed him of everything I knew about your relationship and what transpired. He knows.”

“He knew a lot already, Pepper, I’m not sure that’s a surprise.”

“No,” Pepper says and looks up at him. “But the details might have been too much for him to handle.”

“You told him about Ultron?”

“Yes, everything I knew. I didn’t think it was fair, after so long, to keep the truth from him.” She stands up but he stays where he is, worried that his bulk might frighten her off. “He’s plagued by nightmares, images, things he cannot place. I figured it might help for him to know that way the nightmares that might be memories – well, they would start making some sense.”

“Some sense?” he echoes and feels stupid as if he’s scrambling for purchase.

She walks a feet meters away from him and then turns around. “You have to understand, Ultron was essentially downloaded into Tony’s brain. The information –well, from what I can glean – some of the information stayed with Tony, especially parts of it that he could link to, understand, have some context for.”

“In other words, he remembers what Ultron remembers.”

“Yes,” Pepper says and her looks is far away, almost lost. “He remembers as Ultron would, what happened. Can you imagine, Commander, how terrifying that would be?”

He stands and shakes his head. “I don’t think any of us can fathom that, ma’am.”

“No, no we can’t. But Tony has to deal with it as a burden, every day.” Her demeanor changes, seems more like the moments before Ultron forced her to whip him, hit him repeatedly, lashed his face. She searches his eyes as if in resolution to find the answer she seeks. “You have to understand, what Tony’s doing now. Who he’s with now, is because he can’t be with you. He can’t.”

When he swallows down the pain, it’s thick like heavy smog clogging his throat. “We haven’t been together for some time, he can be with whomever he wants-.”

She grabs his arm and her nails press into his wrist, daggers against the reinforced armor of his uniform. “I didn’t say he should be with Tiberius, I said he can’t be with you. Remember that Commander.”

“Pepper?” he asks just as the door to the inner suite opens and Tony walks out. He’s freshly showed and only wears a towel slung low at his waist while he carries another to dry his hair. 

“Captain, it’s nice of you to come by. I thought we’d requested you as my bodyguard and that meant you had to stick around. I didn’t think things would be so lax around here.” He runs the towel through his hair and smiles, devilish and inviting to Steve. It reminds him of their time, of his Courtesan lure dragging Steve in to his nest.

“Now, Tones, call the poor man a Commander,” Tiberius says and appears at the same door. He’s wearing only a towel as well. He’s not as well-proportioned as Steve and sports a bit of a paunch. He places a hand on each of Tony’s shoulders as he stands behind him. His obvious gesture of possession sickens Steve and only with determined willpower does he not turn away. 

He has to be on a ship with this man for days, while Tony shares a cabin with Tiberius. He needs to get his reactions under control. 

“I specifically picked out the guards at your door,” Steve explains and keeps his voice neutral, his eyes as blank as he can. “You were at no time in danger.”

“Are you so sure?” Tiberius scoffs at him and Pepper steps aside, disappearing into one of the adjoining rooms as if she cannot wait to escape the man’s presence. 

For a drawn out space of time, Steve understands that, in fact, Tony was, is in danger. The peril he seeks to avoid he’s welcome to his bed. The horror of it turns over in his belly and Steve bites at his tongue not to gag. In one fleeting moment, Tony shares a harried look with Steve and then turns back to his intended and pecks him on the cheek.

“Best we get moving?” Tony asks.

Tiberius glowers at Steve. “Commander, Tony convinced me that it had to be you as a bodyguard, and that it had to be the Howling Commando to transport us, don’t disappoint me.”

Steve considers Tony who gives nothing away, and then studies Tiberius. “I do not intend to disappoint Sir Stark.”

“Really? That’s funny because I thought you already had-.”

“Ty, Ty,” Tony says and plants his body physically between Steve and Tiberius. “Let’s just get ready for the flight. Have the loaders moved our crates?”

Steve steadies himself by filling his lungs and releasing it. “Yes, Sir Stark, everything should be ready.” He looks between them and says, “Be ready to launch in thirty minutes. I’ll wait outside the door to escort you.”

He doesn’t give them time to protest; he marches to the door and passed the guard waiting there. He stands at attention at the door, keeping his mind clear and his eyes straight ahead. 

He has clear his mind, because if he doesn’t he’s liable to rip Tiberius Stane apart with his bare hands. From everything he’s seen and everything that Pepper told him, Steve knows there’s more. Tony Stark knows how to hide secrets; even if he doesn’t recall his time as a Courtesan anymore, those talents are second nature.

Secrets.

None of it makes sense. What Pepper confessed to him – Tony’s nightmares, Tony’s memories being tainted with Ultron’s version of events, Tiberius as Tony’s intended, Tony requesting Steve as his bodyguard. It all plays into a complicated mess that Steve needs to tease apart. He thinks if he’s unable to do it, more than just a former Courtesan’s marital status will be at stake, maybe even his life.

CHAPTER 3  
Things clarify for Steve when he escorts the Stark Corp party out to the main deck and Director Coulson shows up. He’s still surprised that Coulson left the life of a ship’s captain to take over as the head of SHIELD Corp. SHIELD has taken on the duties as the main defense of Human Space. Several of the other Corp protested and, for a while, it looked like the squabbles might manifest into a civil war, but the threat of the Chitauri and the Dark Elves lurking stopped all further complaints from Hammer Corp and AIM. The only thing the Corps and governors can currently agree on is that SHIELD handles the protection and guarding of the Human Space with Phil Coulson leading the way.

Coulson strides right up to Steve as he leads the party to the Commando’s docking bay. Tony and Tiberius are surrounded by the Honor Guard with Pepper, Rhodes and Happy trailing behind them. Transferring the party to a new ship and then flying to the Lemurian Star might seem a bit more complicated but Steve hopes to decrease strikes against the delegates to the Peace Conference by keeping the pieces on the chess board moving and changing the shapes of the pieces as well.

Steve gestures for Natasha, who is waiting on the ramp of the newly retrofitted Commando, to show the Stark party into the ship. She nods but has a slightly downturned look to her expression. He reads it and signals her that he understands.

“What is it?” he says, turning to the Director.

“No pleasantries anymore, Captain?” Coulson frowns. “What happened to all those manner you learned back in the day?”

“I apologize, Director, how are you today?”

“No time for that,” Coulson says and pats him on the arm. “Just joking with you. Come on lighten up, I have some particularly bad news for you.”

“And you want me to lighten up?”

“What else is there to do in the face of adversity?”

“That bad, huh?” he says and allows Coulson to direct him to the small administrative offices of the docking bay. 

As they enter it, Steve notes it’s been cleared and probably swept for bugs and any other sort of tech that might be spyware. Skye is standing in the corner and salutes to Coulson as she leaves. She elbows Steve and winks before she disappears through the door. Coulson closes the door and locks it.

“What’s this all about?”

“We got word today that there’s more trouble than we thought brewing for the Peace Conference.”

“That’s not exactly a state secret,” Steve says and hooks his thumbs at his utility belt. “But this is something else.”

“Well, Hydra Corp has been making some waves-.”

“Pun intended?” Steve asks.

“Considering they own the vast majority of water rights in the Inner Belts and run the lanes to the outer rims, I would say probably not.”

“What kind of waves?” He hasn’t had a headache in over a century but he thinks he feels the ache of one now. 

“Hydra isn’t happy with the current state of affairs-.”

“With Stark Corp regaining so much of the power. We knew that,” Steve says. “But there’s more?”

“Lots, Hydra isn’t backing down. We think they’re going to announce something soon. They have a lot of power with water rights. And we also have Hammer and AIM starting to send signals as well.” Coulson remains calm, almost robotic in his dissertation of events. “The problem? We’re getting word that one of them or all of them have a hit out on Stark.”

“A hit?”

“Someone’s going to try and assassinate your boy,” Coulson says and his words hold no malice and may be intended to soften the blow. It fails.

“What? Someone’s going to try and kill Sir Stark?” Steve says stuttering on the name, yearning to say Tony.

“Yes and we think it might be an organized hit, we don’t know. Watch for it.”

His mind clicks back into gear. “How reliable are your sources?”

“Very.” Coulson flicks his attention to the monitor. “You’re launching soon. Good luck, Commander. See you on the Lemurian Star.”

He recognizes the dismissal but before he leaves the office, Steve turns to the director and says, “Tell Agent Carter, I said thanks.”

Coulson offers him a half smile. “For what?”

Steve only shrugs and exits. He knows the agents of the Guard and SHIELD well enough to appreciate Agent Sharon Carter’s work. He crosses the flight deck and boards the Commando, hitting the console panel to close up the ship as he steps up to the cargo bay area within the belly of the ship.


	6. Soul Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my attempt at writing a soul mate story about Steve and Bucky. It didn't take off so I shelved it.

"Why's he like that?" He knows it's rude to ask. His mother would have pinched up her lips and shaken her head. It's just not done – no one ever remarks about a Companion if they are not paired. When he looks at the boy and then back at the older boy’s Soul Companion he doesn't see derision in the boy's features just a little curiosity and maybe amusement.

"Like what?"

Is it a challenge or a lure, Steve isn't sure so he treads softly. His voice calm even after nearly eating the dirt from the fight the boy just rescued him from. "You know. He's all muscles and, like, has no front leg there. One of ‘em’s missing and all."

It seems a little off to say the least. The older boy’s Companion looks like a large dog, almost like a wolf but not that big. He's a fine white and gray color that borders on silver. On the top of his forehead though a patch of fur that's rusty in color forms an almost perfect star. He's a healthy Soul Companion except for the missing leg. When Steve looks at the boy he notes the boy has both arms and both legs. Most of the time a Companion mirrored the soul it belonged to - Steve's does.

He glances at his own Companion. Sweet and lovely, but his soul animal is small, thin, but ferocious. She's wiry and, as his mother has said, all spit and vinegar. What she doesn't have in size and health she has in attitude. She's a brindled blue and gray and black. The gray mimics the silver in the boy's Soul Companion.

"He's tough enough he don't need four legs. What about yours?" He points to Steve’s little fox sized Companion.

Steve almost wants to attack but he was the one to bring up the deformity. "She's got more heart than half of those guys back there." He wipes away the blood from his nose. The boy and his Companion just rescued Steve from yet another back alley fight. He’s lucky the gang’s Soul Companions weren’t interested in engaging in the battle as well – when that happens – things get messy fast.

"You gotta name?" The boy asks as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Steve’s eyes go wide when he sees them. When the boy offers, Steve only waves them off – he doesn’t need to smoke with his asthma and bad heart.

“No, no,” he says.

“You ain’t got a name?” The boy nabs the butt of the cigarette with his teeth, winks at Steve, and then says, “Maybe I’ll call you -.”

"Steve.” He rushes in to say his name. The thought of the boy giving him a nickname, supplying him with some moniker that would only come from those lips – sends a secret delight, a shiver, down Steve’s spine.

"Well, see," the boy says as he whips out a kerchief. Handing it to Steve to wipe the blood away and then curling his arm around his shoulder as they walk from the alley, he adds, "See this is your lucky day. You've just met James Buchanan Barnes.”

The cigarette hangs precariously from the ridge of his lips as he speaks. Steve is mesmerized.

"You're not going to try and scam me are you? Cause I'm smarter than I look." Steve manages to force the words out, but the youth has his arm around Steve, and there’s comradery in his mannerism, something very foreign to Steve. Plus, he doesn’t want this to be a scam, he truly doesn’t. 

"Now why would I do that?" He gives Steve's arm a subtle shake. "Looks like me and you are going to be fast friends."

He admits he likes the boy's affable smile. "Yeah? How're you figuring that?"

"Well look at our Souls. Ain't they sweet on one another?" 

Steve tries not to notice that the boy is angling them away from the tenements where he lives. Steve glances at his companion as she trots along, happy and full of joy. It's not something he usually sees in her. She's as sickly as he is. But right now the sun and the moon couldn't stop her from playing with the boy's - no James jimmy? - Companion. He concedes. "She looks happy enough."

"She got a name?"

That is the height of vulgarity. Everyone knows the Soul Companion isn't named, can't be named until the moment of pairing. Pairing can happen at any time with anyone. But he knows the possibility of pairing is slim to none for his Soul. It's broken, unhealthy, and unwanted. He accepted that years ago.

Yet his Companion yelps and turns her head to him, her pricked ears pointed toward him, her blue crystal eyes like the summer sky pierce with an unnatural ice. She looks at him and everything drains away. Only her essence, her existence whispers to him and he knows at that moment he's just experienced something profound and wondrous. 

Pairing.

"Summer."

It has been sixteen years and he finally knows her name. Sixteen years and her name falls off his tongue like a sweet flavored kiss. Sixteen years of doubt and hope at the same time.

The youth next to him pulls the cigarette from his lips and smiles. “Funny, ‘cause my Soul’s named Winter.”

“Summer and Winter,” Steve whispers and it feels like the air in his lungs lifts his away into the clouds. The boy is holding him and Steve knows he never wants him to let go. “James?”

“Bucky, you can call me, Bucky,” he says and there’s something powerful and potent in his gaze. 

It takes all of his willpower to tear away and focus on their Souls playing and nuzzling. But it’s Bucky who brings him back to face him again with a finger to his chin. “Paired.”

He can hardly breathe but the words disappear – a dream he never hoped for has come to fruition.


	7. The one with the cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this isn't unfinished, maybe it's just short.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Tony says and crosses his arms. 

“I’m not sure; you brought it home,” Steve responds and figures that Tony has an idea about said creature sitting in the middle of the throw rug licking its tiny but delicate paw. “What did you want to do with it?”

“I thought you would know what to do, since, you brought, you know Dug home.” Tony thumbs it behind him to the sleeping (admittedly fat) dog on the bed in the corner of the living room. 

“He was a rescue,” Steve says and feels particularly put upon by Tony. He doesn’t think he will ever live down the day he brought a perfectly good (but fat) dog home. He has suffered for over six months since that day especially considering Tony took Steve bringing home a dog to mean that he wanted Tony to invent a collar by which they could hear what the dog had to say. Steve does not find this funny, or useful.

“She’s a rescue,” Tony’s saying. And his eyes go all dreamy as he stares at the little bitty kitten sitting in the middle of the monster rug in the penthouse living room.

It is only then that Steve realizes Tony is a cat person, and that he’s going to give this little cat one of those collars that make her talk and then his life is going to be consumed by animals talking about food, love, squirrels, mice, and possibly disdain (since they now have a cat).

This isn’t good, this isn’t good at all.


	8. Happy Little Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, I don't even remember writing this one at all...

He finds the first one in the kitchen, hanging on the wall as if it’s been there the entire time he’s housed the Avengers. Standing by the coffee maker, dull and sleepy, he looks up and there it is – a painting. He furrows his brows and rubs at his beard. The painting is nothing special. It is just a painting of some trees, a few mountains in the background, and wispy clouds. He walks around the counter and places himself in front of the painting figuring it is small only about a half meter in width and a little over that in length. He can still smell the wet oil from it.

He nearly falls into the painting when Clint comes around the corner and knocks his shoulder. “Hey.”

Clint lifts his chin in greeting and scrubs at his eyes. He looks like a dog walked all over him, used him as a chew toy, and then spit him out. “Coffee?”

Tony points to the machine but doesn’t tell him. Clint doesn’t seem moved by the fact they have a new painting dressing the walls. He only seems interested in his lack of matching pajamas and the surgical tape on his fingers.

“Where’d it come from?” Tony asks.

“The medicine cabinet?” Clint shrugs and picks sleep out of his eyes.

“That doesn’t seem right,” Tony replies.

“Where else would you keep it?”

Tony grumbles. “I’m not asking you where it’s kept, I’m asking where it came from?”

“The store?” Clint starts playing with the coffee machine and it whines in protest. Tony truly and honestly cannot believe how many of the Avengers cannot operate simple machinery but can somehow fly complicated jets, figure out complex weapons, and shut down enemy (and alien) ships.

Tony pushes Clint out of the way and sets up the coffee machine to fill up a mug. “No, not the medical tape, the painting. Where’d it come from?”

Clint spins around like a drunken top once, wobbles a little, and then spots the painting. “Don’t know. Been there about a week, though.”

“JARVIS?” Tony hands the steaming mug to Clint and then sets up his own coffee. He’s being too nice today. Something must be wrong with him. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“That painting where did it come from?”

“I am not at liberty to say, sir.” JARVIS replies.

“Pepper, Pepper and her need to enrich my life with art other than Iron Man posters,” Tony mutters and Clint mumbles something under his breath. “What’s that?”

“Could do with some enrichment,” Clint says and shuffles out of the kitchen.

Tony doesn’t know why but the whole exchange pisses him off. He leaves the kitchen with coffee mug in hand and forgets entirely about the artwork hanging on the wall in the kitchen.

But not for long.

Another one appears in the lounge area. He spots it while they are supposed to be having movie team building night. Unfortunately, most of the team is not there and what’s left can’t decide on a movie. It’s between Saving Private Ryan and some shit ass romance The Lakehouse. Surprisingly Clint wants the romance and Natasha is backing Private Ryan. He has to tip the scales because it’s a stalemate and he’s the only other team member attending the required team building night.

Both of them are standing nose to nose ready for a knockdown, drag out fight, and for a moment, Tony considers letting them whack at each other for a while because hell it would be better than tolerating a movie with them. But that’s when Steve – the good Captain- decides to make his appearance. Looking too fit for mortal men, the Captain swings into the room and claps his hands, an uncharacteristic smile on his face and a bit of green under his nails. When the Captain plops down on the sofa next to him, Tony can only focus on one thing – that smudge of green under his fingernail. The Captain is always pristine.

“Been gardening, Cap?”

“Huh?” he says and frowns at Tony, that little furrow appearing between his brows. “What?”

Tony waves it off and points to the two dueling assassins. “Well, are you having a drop down or not, because I have other things to do if not?”

“What drop down? What’s this all about?” the Captain says in his very captainy voice. Tony has got to stop reading Avengers’ fanfiction in his free time. He really needs to get a date, or get laid, or something.

Tony shakes a hand at the two quarreling members of their team. “This is team building night and they are destroying our team. They are fighting over ridiculous shit, and can’t come to some accords.”

“Accords,” the Captain says with a smirk on his face. They’ve been down that road before and no thank you. “What movies?”

“Saving Private Ryan,” Natasha says it as if she’s announcing he won the battle.

“The Lakehouse,” Clint says with a crocked smile as if he’s trying to flirt with the good Captain and get him to soften up. That’s just over the top to Tony.

Does that work with the Captain? Because Tony wants to know, but when he turns to look at Rogers – he knows it doesn’t. Rogers is focusing on Natasha – and while there isn’t even a picture or plastic container with the movie disc in it because JARVIS will just stream it from the huge library Tony owns – it’s clear that the Captain isn’t seeing Natasha. He’s seeing the war and all it means.

Immediately, all three of them say in unison, “The Lakehouse.”

This announcement shocks the good Captain and he jolts back to reality, mumbling assent. He sits back as the movie begins to play on the large screen console. That’s when Tony notices it – a framed oil painting, much like the one in the kitchen, tacked to the wall below the screen.

“What the-?” He’s not even watching the movie. He’s staring at the little painting with its little trees and pond. This one even has a little lakehouse – like it’s trying to be part of the movie. Why does Pepper keep littering his house with all of these insanely Hobbit inspired pictures. It looks like she’s trying to establish the Shire or something in his penthouse.

Before he’s able to blurt something out to JARVIS, Steve stiffens next to him. Tony turns to face him and a pale ashen cascade of expressions cast over the good Captain’s features. As Tony watches the good natured Captain disintegrates and transforms. There’s something off and dissociated in his eyes, in his facial tension. He jumps up, and without further comment, leaves the room.

Natasha watches him from the recliner and then turns to Tony. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I didn’t do anything,” Tony says and turns back to the painting. He’s going to blame it on that thing in his living room. He has to have a serious conversation with Pepper.

“Maybe it’s the movie,” Clint says and tosses popcorn at Natasha who casually catches it with her mouth.

“It’s a love story-.”

“About people separated in different times, right?” Clint says and shakes his head. He gets to his feet. “Well, team building or shattering is done for the night. I’m off.”

After he leaves, Natasha turns around to Tony. “I’m blaming this one on you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did, or maybe it’s what you haven’t done.” She leaves that bait dangling out there and disappears.

He tells JARVIS to stop the stupid movie as he gazes at the little happy trees in the painting. “And tell Pepper to stop ordering me Hobbit artwork.”

The next few days the good Captain is barely seen about the communal floor and when he is – his hands have more green and blue staining them. Tony wants to ask what the hell is going on, but he doesn’t because even he Tony Stark gets intimidated by his once and current crush.

That’s when Pepper calls and throws all of his theories into the toilet. 

“JARVIS informed me you would prefer not to have the Penthouse turned into the Shire,” Pepper says. He can hear the clack of her heels over the line. She must be walking – vigorously. She does that when she wants to show she’s in command. He doesn’t know why, she can be intimidating in her sleep without even trying.

“Yes?” He tries to pass it off. “I’m an Avenger, I’m trying to show my worth here with the team. What will the Captain say?”

“Yes, what will the Captain say,” Pepper says and he’s not certain she isn’t mocking him. 

“Pepper,” he warns, but she giggles. She can always do that to him.

“Okay, I give up. What’s this about the Shire? Has Thor’s brother done something to the Penthouse? Are you walking through different dimension? What’s going on?”

“Happy little trees, that’s what’s going on,” Tony says. 

“There are trees in the Penthouse?” Pepper asks and he can no longer hear her clack of heels. That means she’s confused or angry. He hisses. “What does that mean? Are the trees talking to you? Should I call Reed Richards? Or do you need a doctor?”

“What? No, I don’t need a doctor or Richards? Jesus Christ, save me from Richards.”

“Well, then tell me what happy little trees are doing in the Penthouse?”

He huffs and shakes his head. “You know what, forget it. Just don’t send anymore paintings.”

He disconnects before she can respond and stares straight ahead at his bedroom wall where the third happy little painting has been hung by the mysterious interior decorator who JARVIS feels compelled to protect. “I could rip apart your code and figure it out, JARVIS.”

“Yes, sir, you could.”

He’s determined now. That’s what’s going to happen. But then the Avengers’ alarm rings and all hell breaks loose – literally.

He wakes up ten days after the fight in his own bed. At first, he’s lost and his head aches. He smells oil paints. Glancing around the room, he spots the good Captain sitting at an easel mumbling to himself and painting.

He distinctly hears the words. “Happy little trees.”

“Wh-what?”

The good Captain turns with the palette in his one hand and a thick paint brush loaded with green paint in the other. “Tony.”

“What’s going on? Why are you in my bedroom?”

He places the paint palette and the paintbrush down on a little metal tray he must have dragged into Tony’s bedroom. “The doctor said you would have periods of confusion.”

“I am not confused and why are you turning my house into the Shire?”


	9. Into the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a stand alone story that I posted as a WIP. Eventually I deleted the story because of lack of interest on the readers part and my waning interest in finishing it as well. Some people asked if they could have a copy of it, so here it is. My attempt at a Western.

In to the West

“Hold still.”

He grits his teeth as Natasha perches over him; in her hand she holds a pair of tongs. He’s not sure he wants to know their original purpose. When he flinches as she pries at the open wound on his shoulder, she glares at him.

“Damn fool, is what he is,” Bucky says as he leans against the doorframe of their one room flat. “If he’d a let me come with-.”

“No, Bucky, you can’t- damn it, Natasha, that hurts,” Steve says and bats at her.

“Or Clint, his deputy,” Bucky continues. The dark expression his friend offers him is only emphasized by the shift of shadows and sunlight in the cramped room.

“Clint was busy with the ranch-.” He writhes as she pokes into the wound.

Looking over her shoulder, Natasha says, “Hold him still or else this bullet is going to stay where it is and he’ll have another festering wound.”

Steve squeezes his eyes closed and mutters, “You’re one hell of a doctor, Nat.”

“Just because I stitch up wounds from bar brawls does not make me a doctor, Cap.” She waits for Bucky.

Bucky crosses the tiny room. Doesn't matter how small it is, they've been sharing rooms since their orphan days running the streets of New York City back east. It isn’t much since it’s above the town jail. Steve lies on the only cot in the room; the cot is unofficially Bucky’s bed. Most days he ends up finding sleep in the Sheriff's chair in the front office downstairs to keep the rowdy occupants of the jail quiet during the night. As Bucky kneels next to the cot, he pushes his one hand down on Steve’s non-injured shoulder.

“You’re a punk, you know? Going off to fight Schmidt and his gang on your own; what the hell were you thinking?” Bucky’s long hair slides in front of his face, obscuring his features but Steve knows when he’s in for a lecture from his friend. They’ve known one another long enough.

“Going in,” Natasha says and a jolt of pain like lightning, like hotl liquid metal, rides up his shoulder and down his arm to his fingertips at the same time. 

“I was thinking about getting rid of that ass once and for all,” Steve says through clenched teeth. As sheriff he has a duty to perform, getting rid of the garden variety of criminals is one thing, trying to rid the town of the likes of Schmidt is on another level of impossible. 

Bucky interrupts his thoughts. “I could have-.”

“No,” Steve gasps as Natasha digs around some more. “Geez, watch out, I’d like to be able to feel my fingers after you’re done.”

She only rolls her eyes as she pushes forward, the low bodice of her dress presses against his chest. When he dragged himself into the saloon after his showdown with Schmidt, he'd interrupted the mid-afternoon gaiety hosted by the saloon owner, the one and only Natasha Romanoff. Much to her credit, Natasha spotted him and halted the party, rushing to seize him, calling to Clint, and helping Steve before he collapsed from the blood loss. This isn’t the first time Steve’s come to Natasha for help after a run in with the town bully, Johann Schmidt. It probably won’t be the last – in fact, Steve knows it won’t be the last. They’ve only just begun the showdown and he doesn’t intend for someone like Schmidt to take control of the town’s resources without a fight.

He turns his head, more for modesty than aversion of the gruesome images he tells himself. 

“Stay quiet,” Natasha says and keeps at her work while Bucky presses the one hand he still has on the opposite shoulder. “Damn he’s using those strange bullets again.”

Steve groans as she delves deeper to clear out all the shrapnel. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about the war; what happened there. He cannot stop the images, cannot stop the barrage of smells and horrid reminders of a war that took Bucky’s arm and left him with sleepless nights and an overwhelming urge to disappear and go to sleep for years. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Bucky says in a quiet whisper. “Stop beating yourself up.”

Steve blinks his eyes as he hears the ping of the bullet drop into the pan near the cot. “Still my fault.” He doesn’t have to state what he’s referring to, both Steve and Bucky know what plagues Steve’s sleep, what makes the sheriff’s chair a welcome reprieve during nights filled with horrid memories.

“I’d do it again in a minute, Steve, so stop,” Bucky says and then Natasha’s having a good old time with his shoulder again and he’s biting down hard enough to draw blood from his lips.

“Got it,” she says and throws the rest of the shrapnel in the pan. She looks a little too triumphant as she smiles at him. 

“Sometimes you scare me,” Steve says in a breathless whisper.

“Nat scares everyone,” Clint says from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded and a pissed off look plastered to his face. He’s angry at Steve for dispatching him to take care of a minor issue with the ranchers outside of town, while he went covertly to tackle the Schmidt problem. “By the way, Nat might want to get back to the saloon, Thor and that chucklehead of a brother of his are causing a ruckus.”

Natasha finishes up and then stands. She adjusts her skirts and pats Steve on his uninjured shoulder. “Stay in bed. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

“Come on, Hawk,” Natasha beckons as she picks up the bowl with the spent and bloody rags and bullet fragments. She moves past him into the hallway. “And I would be careful calling Loki a fool, that man is liable to mix up some of his special remedies to put in the town water. Or worse have you lapping at his heels like a dog in heat.”

It’s Clint’s turn to roll his eyes as he follows her out of the bedroom. In the distance Steve hears Clint state, “Doesn’t matter much, won’t have any water left once--.”

Steve glances at Bucky and completes Clint’s words. “Clint’s right, once Schmidt diverts the river we’re as good as dead.”

“Not for you to take on the whole of Schmidt’s gang to save the entire town, Steve. We can all just move on.” Bucky says and pours some water from the pitcher. “Drink.”

The water is clear and cold, refreshing and precious. If Schmidt wins his battle and the territorial government doesn’t get off their asses and come help, the town of Avenge is going to perish along with all of the settlers and ranchers along the riverbed, not to mention the native tribes of the area. 

“No, I’m not moving on this one, Buck. We just settled down. This is a good town for us.” He shifts and tries to get off the cot, but Bucky pushes him back and sits on a stool next to the bed.

“You need to get well, first.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not some super soldier, Steve, no kind of that magical potions running through your veins. Since Erskine got shot in that mysterious manner down at the old Parlor Inn, we don’t have a decent doctor in town. Only Nat.” Bucky rubs at the stump of his arm. Steve cringes and his friend looks away, red flushes his cheeks.

Bucky has nothing to be ashamed of, it’s Steve who’s to blame for his lost limb, it’s a government bereft of care of their soldiers who fought in a war to save the nation, to piece it back together again when it split in two that’s to blame.

“I can get around, it’s just a nick.”

“Oh yeah, like the last time when you got knifed and ended up in bed for three weeks with a raging fever. I’ve been at your bedside enough when we were just young’uns to know that you need your rest.” 

Steve snickers and grabs at his shoulder at the same time. “Young’uns? Bucky, we’re from New York City, we don’t say young’uns.”

Bucky whacks at him but stands up and takes the few steps toward the window. “We need a doctor in town, you know that. We got the mid-wife, but she’s no good at the other stuff. This town needs so much. You want to build it into some place nice. Parlor Inn is falling apart. No doctor. Plus, we need someone to shoe the horses.”

“Schmidt runs everyone out of town, or scares everyone,” Steve says. “Besides we can do our own horses.”

“I don’t know, you should talk with Fury. He might-.”

“Fury is not about to help us,” Steve says and swings his feet over the side of the cot. He sways a little, but rights himself. “He’s too busy making nice, nice with the governor.”

“Pierce is a piss-ant.”

“Everyone knows that, Buck,” Steve says and stands up. He heads over to the small table they have set up in the corner and when he gets there without falling over he counts it as an accomplishment.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Going back to work, someone has to protect the town,” Steve says, and then digs out a shirt. It isn’t his best one, but then again, he doesn’t have much in the way of ‘best ones’. He slips it on with a wince, and then buckles on his holster.

“I could help,” Bucky says and his face is earnest and lost, and Steve feels about two inches high.

“I’m not sure that’d be a good idea,” Steve says. “You need your rest-.”

“Don’t say it, don’t God damn say it. I don’t need my rest. I’ve been well for a long time now, you keep me waiting and doing nothing but watching the tumbleweeds blow down the damned street of the town.” Bucky slams a fist against the window frame. The uneven glass rattles. “You picked Clint as your deputy. Clint.”

“Bucky.”

“Come on, Steve, we’ve been in this nowhere town for ages. You said when you took the Sheriff position that you’d bring me on as your deputy then you took on Clint instead. What am I here for?” Bucky stares him down and Steve can never defend against his friend’s assassin like gazes. 

“Okay, you want a job, you want to do something. Get us a town doctor, or at least someone to shoe our horses,” Steve says. “Do that, and I can deputize you.”

“What the hell does that have to do with keeping the town safe from Schmidt’s Red Skull gang?” Bucky looks not only like he’s about to chew on nails but like he’s had one too many hours in the sun. He’s that hot under the collar.

“Since the mayor tucked tail and ran the whole town’s been looking to me,” Steve says. “I need to give these people some hope. You think old Aunt May and her nephew aren’t hoping some doctor will be in town with Ben’s heart problems acting up? Part of protecting the town is taking care of the little things, Bucky.”

“A doctor, that’s what you want?”

“And a blacksmith, and that’d be good,” Steve says and lifts his injured shoulder in a partial, but aborted shrug. The pain forces him to clutch onto the table, steadying the waves until it quiets. Bucky is there in an instant, hand on his arm and holding him up.

“Lay back down, you punk.” He steers Steve back to the cot. 

He doesn’t fight it; his head swims through the murk. Agreeing he mumbles, “I think I should lie down.”

“You think? Sometimes I think you like getting shot.”

“Had him on the ropes,” Steve murmurs, as Bucky tugs the holster off and tosses it aside. He gently guides Steve back onto the cot.

“Sure you did, sure you did,” Bucky says and picks up the blanket to cover him. Steve watches in silence as Bucky adjusts it. “Sleep Steve, in the morning, I’ll have a doctor and a blacksmith for you.”

“Blacksmith, first, Shield needs new shoes,” he mumbles.

“Stupid name for a horse, if you ask me.” Bucky replies but he places a hand on Steve shoulder, careful of the wound dressing. “Rest, I have some telegraphs to send.”

“Don’t you dare get Fury to send anyone. Don’t want to have to deal with Pierce.”

“You worry about getting better, I’ll worry about the blacksmith.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve murmurs and his eyes feel heavy and his chest tight. He already has that muddy feeling, like linens woven into his brain. He knows it’s too late, he’ll be dealing with infection and fever in the morning. He doesn’t say anything, not because he wants to hide it, but because his tongue’s too thick and his gaze too bleary.

“Now I know you’re hurt,” Bucky says as Steve drops off, slowly, hearing Bucky curse as he falls into the deep slumber of the wounded.

When he finally swims back to the surface of consciousness after long hours in the hazy of fever and dreams, nightmares of bloody battles, and mud, and fallen comrades, and friends on the end of his bayonet, Steve opens his eyes to find an unfamiliar face staring down at him.

“There you go.”

“Wh-what?” 

The man with a riot of dark curls and soft eyes puts a cool cloth on Steve’s forehead and then reaches to peel back the wound dressing. Steve startles but another voice, one Steve cannot place, chimes in, “Let the doc do his work.”

“Doctor?” Steve tests the words on his tongue but the air is still thick with sickness and the smell gags him. He retches but doesn’t vomit. 

Natasha steps up and offers him water. “Been out for days, Rogers.”

“Hmm?” He tries to clear his head but the fog has settled all around the edges. He’d thought someone else was here, someone he didn’t know. He takes the cup and drinks; he feels parched, dry like the desert sands. 

“Feeling better?” 

Steve jerks to the side and there’s the stranger again, but he’s standing (how did he jump over there) and he’s washing his hands with a rag and the bowl of water set near the pitcher on the table. 

“Who are you?” Struggling to sit up, Natasha takes the cup away and slides her hand under his arm to boost him. 

The man smiles. “Doctor Bruce Banner, heard you were looking for a doctor. Didn’t think you needed one right away, though.”

“Doctor? God,” Steve says and rubs his head. “How the hell long have I been out?”

The doctor chuckles in a low, almost self-deprecating manner. “Not long, according to your friends. But your deputy, Barnes, sent a telegram about a blacksmith.”

“You’re a blacksmith?”

“No, he’s a doctor,” Natasha says as she eyes the man; there’s a critical look to her expression as if she doesn’t quite trust the doctor, as if she’s still weighing her options and opinions on him. She categorizing everything about him, and Steve will tap her for information later.

“Well, almost, but I’m not the blacksmith.”

“Almost doctor?” He really must have been running some kind of fever considering how muddled his brain seems to be right now. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand?”

“My friend set up shop here in town when your deputy-.”

“He’s not my deputy, not yet and I doubt he ever will be,” Steve growls out.

The doctor glances to the doorway where Steve assumes Bucky is hiding out in the shadows and then back at Steve. “Regardless, I came along for the ride, and now I’m here as well.”

Bucky decides to pop in at that point. “Yeah, and thank God almighty that he came along since you were near death’s door-.”

“I wouldn’t say exactly that-.”

“He was delirious with fever and we all love it when he gets like that,” Bucky says and glowers at Steve. “So not only did I get you a blacksmith, but I also got you a doctor in the deal.”

“How come I’m starting to think you got me shot too, so that you could pull this miracle rabbit out of your hat?” Steve says with not a small bit of levity in his tone. Bucky does tip his hat at that one. “Well, Barnes you gonna tell me where you dug up a doctor _and_ a blacksmith?”

“Sent a telegraph over to San Francisco,” Bucky smirks at him, with that smile he uses to show the world he’s got it by the balls. “I answered the ad in the penny novel I got, and look at that, we got ourselves a real town again. A blacksmith and a doctor.”

“This all sounds a little fishy to me,” Steve says and pushes the blankets down. He’s naked and he flips the blanket back. “Can a man have some privacy?”

Shaking her head, Natasha only says, “You think I run a saloon and I haven’t see what you got, Cap?”

“Cap?” the doctor asks.

“He was a captain in the Union army,” Bucky supplies as Natasha leaves the room with an arched bow and a sarcastic smile on her face. When Steve waits it out, Bucky throws up his one hand and says, “Come on Doctor, we have to leave so the sweet little Sheriff can get dressed.”

“Bucky.”

Bucky ushers the man out of the small flat with a muttered, “Who the hell do you think stripped you in the first place.”

Steve manages to get to his feet and across the room before he needs to cling to the bureau. His clothes have been laundered and the shirt that had been the victim of the bullet wound cleaned and stitched up. He shrugs it on, his shoulder achy and protesting. He’s still wobbly on his feet but he gets on underclothes, his pants, a pair of holey socks, and his gun belt. He finds his badge and pins it onto the breast pocket. It still has a nick in it from the bullet but the blood has been washed away. 

He sidles to the door with a hand on the wall to brace against in case the room loops and swoops. Before he exits the room he closes his eyes and clears his head one more time. Leaving, he finds Bucky waiting in the dark hallway.

“Come on, I know you won’t sit still in there, so come along,” Bucky says and slips his shoulder with the missing arm underneath Steve’s uninjured shoulder. “You know, I need you to keep both arms. The two of us can’t make it with just two arms and two hands.”

“Bucky, don’t.”

“Well, it’s true. How am I going to work the sympathy card with the gals when you’re the brave hero and wounded. It doesn’t look good, cowboy, it doesn’t look good.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve agrees and they start down the narrow staircase. It’s a dicey walk down because the stairs were made by a crazy man, Steve’s certain. Some are slanted, others are as unstable as his legs; the whole place needs to be renovated. He’ll have to consider that once they get Schmidt to leave the town alone. 

Once they turn down the landing and go down the next few steps, they enter the main office of the local town jail. It’s cramped and small. He notes the jail is empty when he peers into the rooms in the back of the building. Thor must have convinced Clint not to arrest him last night. The Odinson brothers are renown for their rowdy and loud parties, especially now since Thor is sweet on the local teacher, Jane Foster. 

Bucky deposits him in the chair behind the desk and Steve releases a pent up breath. Doctor Banner, Clint, and another man – who stands off to the side in the darker corner of the front office – join them. There’s a moment of long silence and awkward surveillance where each of them are checking out the others.

“Okay, then, who are you all?” Steve scratches at his healing wound, and waits out the shifting glances. “You there, in the back, who are you?”

The man steps forward and his smile is like nothing Steve’s ever seen before – he’s arrogant and beautiful and brilliant all wrapped up in that smile. He isn’t intimidated by the badge or by Steve’s bulk. He takes the world as it is and changes it, he manipulates and modifies – Steve can tell by the hard look in his eye – he analyzes, just like he’s sizing Steve up right now. This stranger is a man of a new age, the coming age.

“Who are you?” Steve says and coughs when he realizes how rasped his voice sounds. It isn’t from being sick, Steve knows but he hopes everyone else concludes it is. 

“Stark, Tony Stark.”

“From the New York Starks, Howard Stark?”

“He was my father, yeah, and it isn’t New York anymore. When my father died, I moved the whole estate to California. It’s more my style.”

“Is it now?” Steve says and with a determined eyes examines Stark. He looks to be about Steve’s twenty seven years, give or take some years. As a man of the law, Steve knows how to see the differences five to six years make even on a younger man. Stark has the air of someone who knows what he wants, but also the hint of a man running from something as well. 

“Less of the old school, more of the new,” Stark says and he’s appraising Steve, his eyes are critical and intense in their expression. Steve can appreciate a man who doesn’t trust immediately.

“I knew your father.”

“Yeah a lot of soldiers from the war did,” Stark says and something hidden crosses over him. He holds it tight to his chest like his ribs are fractured and it’s hard to breathe. 

“He did a lot for the soldiers, a lot for my unit, the Howling Commandos.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stark says and doesn’t elaborate. 

It occurs to Steve that Howard mentioned a son, but made it seem as if his boy had been younger than Tony obviously is. Tony hadn’t been a soldier, hadn’t fought in the war that ripped the country apart. Steve knows that some of the rich and privileged didn’t go to war; it’s that way all the time, the poor are the pawns. 

“So, you do what, exactly?” Steve asks.

“Well, I’m here to be your blacksmith.”

Steve cannot help the guffaw as he holds his abdomen for a hard belly laugh that shakes his shoulders and brings tears to his eyes from the pain. “You? A blacksmith?”

“Yes, you said you needed one. You answered my ad.”

“You, a blacksmith. One of the richest men in the country wants to hang out in our little nowhere town and be our blacksmith?” Steve bites back anymore of the sarcasm. It’s dripping down the walls as it is.

“Yes, I’ll have you know I’m one of the best blacksmiths around. I’m also pretty damned resourceful when it comes to working metal. Some people actually called me Iron Man back in San Francisco.”

“Right, right,” Steve says and he’s not likely to feed the needs of a spoiled little rich boy. “You can get right back on your horse, get back to the train station or whatever you road into town, and skedaddle. Thank you very much.”

“Steve,” Bucky hisses.

Steve stands up and tosses the papers on the desk. He’s too tired, too worn thin from all the battles he’s encountered over the last dozen years that he doesn’t have the patience to deal with this crap. “Are you having a crisis, Stark? You need to show up Daddy or something? Having a tantrum?”

Stark seethes at him, his eyes penetrating and black. “My father’s dead. I’m here because I know what it means to work with your hands and want to change things. I’m here to make life better in this shit-ass town. If you want me, I’m here. If not, then I’ll take my doctor and leave.”

The threat of Stark taking the doctor away stops Steve. He flashes a look over at Banner and notes that he concentrates on Stark, not meeting Steve’s gaze, clearly showing his allegiance. It isn’t a surprise; he came with Stark as a package deal. Steve can’t say no, not with Peter’s uncle so sick and Clint’s hearing problem, as well as Bucky’s continued debilitating pain. 

“Fine, you can stay.” He collapses back into the chair.

“What? Do you own this town or something?” Stark smirks. “Like you could stop me from staying.”

He sits up straighter in the chair even though it costs him and he draws out his Colt Single Action Army Peacemaker. Brand new make and model of the Colt revolver, Steve carries it more as a deterrent than anything else, he prefers his rifle to the smaller less accurate gun. “No, I just protect it, since no one else around here wants to do the job.” He climbs to his feet again, and his shoulder aches. “You’re no hero, Stark, I heard about you. About how you’re only for yourself. You’re not the kind who would lie down on the wire.”

Stark chuckles and shares a look with Banner. “I’d just cut the wire.” He shakes his head. “And I heard about you from my dad, can’t say I’m all that impressed. I don’t need this crap.”

Bucky shuffles behind him, telegraphing his disapproval to Steve. 

Steve touches the gun and bows his head. “No, no you don’t.” He relents. “I don’t own the town, Mister Stark, you can stay. It is a free country. I fought for that fact alongside all the other Union soldiers. I wonder what you were doing during the war?”

The words shudder through Stark as if Steve punched him in the jaw. He recoils and Banner reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder. The effect quells Steve’s misgivings and he sidesteps his stance.

“I’m grateful you brought your doctor here, you’re welcome to stay. I’m just the sheriff, trying to protect a town no one else cares about.”

Stark nods to Banner and the doctor squeezes his shoulder once and then releases him. “You know, Sheriff, I think I will stay. Not because you so sweetly invited me, but because I don’t back down from a challenge.” Stark spins on his heel, surveying all, the tiny jail with its rusted bars on the windows and single lantern in the wall sconce. “Yep, I think I’ll be staying here and change things up a bit. I think this town’s rip for the pickin’s.”

Steve only laughs. “Good luck with that, not like we have much, Stark.”

“Not right now, you don’t,” Stark says and seems to have abruptly forgotten and forgiven Steve for the reference to the war and his activities during it. He knocks Banner in the elbow. “Come on, let’s go and see if they have anything good to eat at the saloon. I’m starved.”

Banner screws up his face at Stark.

“What?”

“Are you feeling all right, you never voluntarily eat.”

Stark only catches the doctor’s elbow and guides him to the door. Peering over his shoulder at Steve, he says, “I’ll be purchasing the empty blacksmith’s shop and a place for the good doctor to set up shop as well, tomorrow. Do I come to you? Pay you the money?”

The question staggers Steve. “No, why would you do that?”

“Figured you run the town, you own the town. Is there a protection fee I have to pay?”

“For God’s sake man, no,” Steve says and the pit of his stomach turns over that his little display of offense misrepresented his intentions so wildly. 

Stark regards him, nods once, and says, “Good then, see you around Sheriff, see you around.” With a last up and down glance at Steve as if he’s sizing him up in all the most intimate ways, Stark departs the jailhouse. 

Turning, Steve says, “What the hell, Bucky? Stark, you bring a Stark here? They’re nothing but trouble, especially the son.”

“I don’t know, Stark was pretty useful during the war, and he’s dead anyway.”

“Damn it, that doesn’t matter,” Steve says and the pain in his shoulder amplifies. He allows himself to drop into his chair. 

Clint asserts himself. “We need the blacksmith and a doctor, Cap. We got no one else. Like you said, ain’t a lot around this town for anyone to be interested in it.”

“Yeah, I know. But Tony Stark? Did you read the papers about him? He’s all about himself. He jokes about, you know, women and stuff.”

“Oh you mean he likes the company of lots of women?” Bucky says with a crooked smile that only means he’s enjoying tormenting Steve.

“He brags about it, what kind of gentleman does that?” Steve says. “He’s trouble. And he disappeared during the war, did you know that? Supposedly went on some kind of secret mission for the Union, ended up being found like three months later. He didn’t do anything for the war effort after that. He just up and stopped. Privileged rich boy.”

“But he was in the war?” Clint asks. He still has hearing problems due to the cannon explosion near his perch in a tree as he was scouting. 

“Not as a soldier, as some kind of special government envoy,” Steve says. “Just another name for -.”

“Sweet ass rich boy who doesn’t want to put himself on the line for anyone else,” Bucky supplies.

“If you believe that, why did you invite him here?” Steve says and he’s slowly running out of steam. He presses the heel of his hands into his eyes. 

“Because we need all the help we can get, and the advertisement looked pretty convincing.”

“You mean that cartoon drawing of a mechanical man?”

Bucky digs out the folded penny story novel from his breast pocket and flips through the pages, one handed and efficiently. “Here, see?”

“’Meet the Iron Man himself, Blacksmith, Inventor, and Millionaire for hire – cheap.’” Next to the illustration of a hideous monstrosity of a mechanical man made of iron is contact information and rates. The cost is ridiculously low. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would Tony Stark one of the richest men in the country if not the world outside royalty want to be a blacksmith and come to our little town?” Steve says. “And he doesn’t even use his own contact information. It’s the doctor’s name and city.”

“Maybe he likes his privacy?” Bucky says.

“He’s in all the newspapers, and magazines, Bucky.”

“Maybe he’s hiding,” Clint says. “You know, like the rest of us.”

Steve struggles back to his feet, forces himself to round the desk and go to the small narrow window with the broken glass. “Yeah, but what or who is he hiding from and when they come to get him, what’s going to happen to us?” 

 

CHAPTER 2  
Steve waits it out for a week before he breaks down and decides he needs to bring in his horse for new shoes. The last encounter with Schmidt caused his horse, Shield, to throw a shoe and he’s worried about the integrity of the hoof. Shield has been with him since the war, and is more of a friend than just a horse. Bringing himself to admit he needs Stark’s help though, isn’t an easy task.

Especially since Stark has been busy building his reputation around the town. He even has Peter Parker looking up to him like he’s some kind of sideshow star. Last Steve heard, the boy had taken up an apprenticeship at the blacksmith’s shop and Steve disapproves of it. He’d hope to send the boy east for a decent education, not stay here in a backwater town and learn a trade. Peter deserves more than that, especially since Aunt May spends a great deal of time helping out the town with her wise words, quilting bees, and her pies. 

He draws the reins of Shield’s halter and the horse simply follows, he only needs to lead the reins a tad, because Shield trails after him, much like a dog would. She’s a nice rich sorrel color with some white markings along her legs. He strokes along her nose and she nays at him.

Walking down the long street of the town, Steve rotates his shoulder, still feeling the tension from healing muscles and nerves. Bucky wanted him to stay in bed for another few days, but enough time has passed and he’d heard some rumblings about the possibilities that Schmidt might be up to no good again around the riverbed. He’s got to get Shield properly shoed.

He could do it himself, but the fact remains they have a new blacksmith in town who will be good use for hitches, metal working, locks, even some issues with guns and rifles. Plus he needs to know if Stark can do the job, can respect the importance of a horse in the sagebrush. He needs to figure out if Stark is any good or if he’s only a rich boy hanging out and pretending he’s some kind of cowpuncher. 

The small town on the edge of a plateau near the river’s bed is a lure to anyone trying to disappear from their former life. Steve should know, he’s one of the many hiding out in Avenge trying to forget the last years of the war and the intervening hell he went through because of it. He rotates his shoulders again, trying to forget what he and Bucky went through, but it’s always a shadow.

He clicks a few times to bring Shield around as the stage comes in from the outlying towns to unload passengers for the train. They’re lucky that Avenge has a train station, it wasn’t supposed to, but then the continental construction was forced this way due to engineering issues through the mountain passes. Or so he’s heard from Uncle Ben when he’s spent a time or two with the man as he convalesces with his weak heart. 

Frowning, he walks past the shuttered Parlor Inn. It’s early in the morning so he shouldn’t be surprised that the place is still closed down. But usually it’s brimming with people at this hour, the proprietor opens doors and serves a good breakfast of eggs and biscuits in the morning hours. The town is lucky, they have good supply of chickens because of Selvig’s fondest for fowl. He doesn’t ask. Besides, he likes Darcy’s coffee. 

He might be able to get a cup over at Natasha’s saloon, if she’s open. But he should stop in and check on Darcy. He doesn’t though because he heard the place was rolling with parties and rowdy with Stark and his friends having a bit too much fun. Even Bucky ended up at the party.

Steve rounded up the usual suspects of drunk and disorderly including Thor and his brother and locked them up for the night. Thor spent an inordinate amount of time singing in a foreign language while Loki begged him to shut up. Sadly, Steve had to admit he sided with Loki as the hours wore on. Eventually, he scooted them out of the jail and hoped for some peace last night. 

It didn’t come. 

It never does, not when the war is always so close.

He comes upon the blacksmith’s large barn. Walking through the door, he peers in and the forge is still hot, but the place is fairly quiet. He lets the reins drag so that Shield will stay in place and searches past the empty stalls into the backrooms of the barn. He hears Stark and Banner before he sees them.

“You need to go back to the city,” Banner says.

“I need the great outdoors, the fresh air,” Stark replies. Steve can’t get a glimpse of them, but he stops and listens.

“You need someone better than me to take care of you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always think you’re fine. We can handle Stane if you’d just let me-.”

“No, Bruce, you have your own problems. I can deal with my problems, with Stane and the rest of them without you having to sacrifice anything.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

Steve startles and finds an older gentleman, dressed impeccably and formally, standing next to him. “Excuse me?”

“May I help you, sir?” the man asks and while he’s not threatening, he’s hardly welcoming.

“Sheriff Rogers, I’m just, I’m here to get my horse taken care of.”

“If you will wait, I’ll tell Master Stark that you are here to engage him in him in a business proposition.”

Steve screws up his face. “I just want to get my horse some new shoes, that’s all.”

The man bows like he’s talking to royalty and Steve looks around. The strange man leaves the barn and heads into the back room. He announces Steve to Stark and Banner.

“Master Stark, Sheriff Rogers is here to see you about a small issue with his horse.”

“Thanks Jarvis, send him in.”

“Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, shall I set another plate?”

“Yeah sure, ask the good sheriff to join us.” He hears some scuffling and, for a moment, considers declining any invitation but then a slight moan and a rapid intake of breath draws him nearer to the curiosity of Tony Stark.

“Sir, Master Stark would be pleased if you joined him for breakfast at his home.”

He wasn’t aware that Stark had a home in town. “Hmm, yeah sure.” Instantly, he feels underdressed even in the middle of a barn. “I’ll tie up my horse and-.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can do it.” 

Steve jumps around and greets a large fellow with a round face and a belly to match. 

“Name’s Happy Hogan, I work for Mister Stark.”

“Okay?” Steve wonders if Stark brought his entire household with him on the train from San Francisco. 

“Just follow Jarvis there and I’ll take care of the horse.”

“Shield, her name is Shield,” Steve says and Happy gives him a fingered salute as he turns to lead Shield to a stall. Jarvis waits on Steve as he watches the portly man lead his horse away. 

In his long duster, Steve straightens his collared shirt and trails after Jarvis as they cross from the barn to the street behind the main thoroughfare of Avenge. He wouldn’t call it a secondary street, but it’s connected to Main Street through a battery of alleyways not big enough for a carriage, but enough to lead a single horse through it. He knows several of the houses and cabins in the Backway, as they call it, are empty due to Schmidt’s constant harassment of the town’s citizens. Some people like Richards up and left after the last big incident. 

He notices that Jarvis leads him to the Richards’ empty house. “Hmm, this house was Doctor Reed Richards house.”

“It was, sir, but Master Stark purchased it a week ago.” 

“I didn’t know it was for sale,” Steve says as he climbs up the steps of the porch and takes off his hat. Reed and his wife Sue with her brother were an odd lot especially with their friend, Ben. Reed was a doctor, but not that kind of doctor, and Steve could never truly figure out what he was doing out in Avenge.

“It wasn’t,” Jarvis says and leads Steve into the well-appointed front parlor. “If you will, sir. I will be serving breakfast in the dining room. The washroom is through those doors. You may hang your hat and coat in there as well.” He points to the kitchen – Steve’s been in the house before, knows the furniture, the décor which always showed a certain softness due to Sue’s influence. 

He nods and notices some of the most personal pieces from the Richards’ home have been removed and replaced with worked iron and gadgets of varying size and questionable functions. Some of them whirl and spin with a madness that Steve cannot figure. He enters the kitchen and the wonderful smells hit him first before he sees the lovely work counter filled with breads, cheeses, eggs, and bacon. There’s a fresh pot of coffee and a kettle boils on the stove.

Jarvis comes into the kitchen by way of the dining room and only nods toward the sink and beyond it. Steve spots the back room that is directly behind the kitchen sink. He surmises it must be the way out to the wash trough behind the house, but he’s wrong. It’s a small washroom with a hand pump in a basin to pull water in from the underground well. 

There’s a clean towel by the side of the basin and Steve washes off the dust from the road and the stink of the horses. In the small room there’s also a tub that’s large enough for a man. The water from the well is cold and Steve wonders if Stark bathes in the frigid mountain waters that supply the underground aquifers for their in town wells and irrigation system.

He hangs up his hat and duster then heads back to the parlor but Jarvis intercepts him to bring him into the dining room. He feels immediately out of place in his soft flannel and dungarees. He’d visited the Richards on several occasions but he’d stayed on the porch or in the vestibule, with a peek at the parlor. He’d never ventured this far into the place. 

The dining room is decorated with the finest furniture. A table for eight with carved wood and a brilliant candle chandelier over it. The china cabinet in the corner shows off the best porcelain dishes and crystal. Steve looks down at his work worn hands, and can’t remember when he ate off anything as fine and perfect. He’s only ever eaten out of tin cans or wooden plates with spoons. He drinks from tin cups, mason jars, or leather pouches. 

As he’s weighing his next move, Stark, Banner, and a young woman enter the room from the other entrance through the parlor. 

“Sheriff, come, sit.” Stark claps his hands and ushers everyone in the room. He walks over to the sideboard and decants a drink of amber liquid.

“Tony,” the woman says and glares at him.

He regards her silent admonishment, shrugs, stoppers the crystal decanter, and then says, “Maybe later. Come, Sheriff, sit.”

Steve finds his way to the chair that happens to be at Stark’s right side while the woman sits at his left. He tucks in but not comfortably since he feels so out of place and ridiculous in a world he doesn’t understand.

“Sheriff, this is my assistant, Miss Virginia Potts,” Stark says. “She’s a lifesaver.”

“Oh, nice to meet you, Miss Potts.”

She smiles and it lights up the room. Steve chances a glance at Stark and notes how he adores her. It is clear in his every motion and the glint of his expression. “Oh, just call me Pepper, everyone does.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“That’s precious,” Stark says as Jarvis brings in the meal. There’s biscuits and plates of bacon, a large dish of scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes. “Not much fruit around here, did you notice that Sheriff? I like blueberries. We have to get some bushes planted, Jarvis.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve thinks he might be a little awe-struck by the entire circumstance. Stark offered himself as a blacksmith but he’s living the life of the town royalty. Some part of him takes the entire show as an insult to his understanding of the world, but another part, the curious part, edges closer, sits down and watches with a fascination of one who has been excluded from this part of society.

“So, Sheriff, I hear you need your horse taken care of?” Stark digs into the meal with not a small amount of appetite. The amount he stuffs away competes with what Steve can haul off and clean up in a sitting.

“Yes, I had some trouble right before you appeared in town and my horse threw a shoe among other things.”

“I’ll take a look but also at the halter, bridle, and saddle. I find a lot of the territorial wear is less than desirable, don’t you?” He winks at Steve which only causes Steve to cough and sputter. “Now, now, dear Sheriff, drink some coffee.”

“Forgive me my manners, ma’am,” Steve says and studies each of their faces. They are genuinely amused but not due to his awkwardness but more toward Stark’s performance.

“Tony, stop. You’re liable to choke the man,” Pepper says and then she turns to Steve. “You have to understand, Sheriff, we live a less conventional life.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Eat, and I’ll explain,” Stark says as he stabs the bacon with his fork. It’s silverware, sparkling and nothing like anything Steve’s touched before, the weight of it in his hands is nice. 

He starts to eat, because he wants to understand why Stark is here more than anything, and what an unconventional life means. 

“You see, dear Sheriff, sometime ago during the war, I ended up a changed man. I won’t get in to that at this point, but it did leave me with a very different view of the world than my father or his associates.”

“Some say you were a coward during the war, sir,” he adds the sir at the end because he realizes he’s just insulted his host.

“Some do, I don’t think you would, if you heard the whole story.”

“Why would that be?”

Stark smiles with a half crooked curve of his lips. “Because I know quite a bit about you. Many do.”

“You talk of tales to encourage the war effort and not the real everyday horrors of war, Mister Stark.”

“It’s Tony,” Stark says, and he has the audacity to reach out and pat Steve’s hand that is laying on the table. “And I know more than you realize about your exploits during the war. My father shared quite a bit of the real you.”

“Did he now?”

“When you went missing, he kept looking for you. Did you know that? He abandon the entire war effort much to his business partner’s chagrin. It caused quite a stir.” Stark removes his hand and picks up the plate of bacon. He serves more of it to Steve. “Eat up.”

“Thank you, sir.” Steve doesn’t want to venture to the question of his months missing in action. Everyone knows where he was now, everyone’s heard the stories of Andersonville, the Confederate prison encampment where nightmares took root to grow and mature and follow a man all the days of his life. 

“I wonder why he did that?” Stark says with his chin in his hand, peering at Steve with a quizzical look. 

“I’m sure I don’t know, I knew your father, but we weren’t close.”

“You knew him well enough for him to outfit you and your unit for the war effort.”

“That was fairly early on. My unit lived and breathed behind enemy lines.”

“It’s said without your work the Deep South would not have fallen, that you forged the path for the likes of Sherman.”

“Don’t blame that madman on me,” Steve says and shuts his mouth, because most Union sympathizers saw Sherman as a hero, an icon of God’s will.

Instead of reproach, Stark slaps the table and laughs as Pepper smiles and Banner only rolls his eyes at the exchange. “Oh Pep, I want him, can I have him, please?”

“Tony, you’re embarrassing the good Sheriff,” Pepper says and picks up her cup of tea. “I am sorry, Sheriff.”

“We’re a little,” Banner says, pauses, and then finishes, “Unconventional.”

“You said that,” Steve says and cannot get over the feeling that a large mortar blast crashed into his head to leave him numb and confused. “I’m sorry, but I’m not following? I just came here to get my horse shoed.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that, at all Sheriff,” Stark says with a smile far removed from innocent. “You came here for something else.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” The eggs, the meal suddenly tastes cold and jellied. 

While he’d challenged Stark the first time he’d met him, he finds himself on the opposite side of the equation. 

“You know what I mean, you know that the little town of Avenge happens to be a place people seek out to hide, not much around here. Is there? No gold. No silver, hell there’s not even copper.”

“No there’s not.”

“Not great farmland because of the mountains. There’s sheep, lots of it. Cattle ranchers hate sheep because they strip the land of grass roots. So what’d you come here for, the sheep?” His words are lascivious but somehow not cruel.

“No, I came here for the job.”

“And what job is that, dear Sheriff?”

“To protect the people.”

“All the people?”

“Yes, why would you ask?” Steve says. 

Stark only shrugs his shoulders and answers as he cuts into his bacon. “I only wonder if the famous Captain of the Union army represents all of the ideals of America or only select ones. Are you truly Captain America?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

It isn’t Stark who asks the next question but Banner. “And why is that?”

“Loaded because it depends on your idea of America, doesn’t it?” Steve says. “Before the war there were two sides to the idea of America. One side enslaved a whole people, the other side wanted to abolish this cruelty. Both sides thought they were American. It was a split between two ideas. 

“My personal take on any idea of a Captain America would be the best of what America stands for and that’s written in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. And I’ll leave it at that.” He starts to stand up.

Stark grabs his wrist and tugs him down. “No, Sheriff, don’t leave. Things are just starting to get interesting.”

“I didn’t come here for an interrogation, Mister Stark,” Steve says.

Stark winks at him again. “Oh, but you did, didn’t you? You thought you would be the one conducting the interrogation.”

Steve feels the heat rush to his face and he can’t keep eye contact with his host, regardless of how humiliated it makes him feel to look away. 

“Now, don’t do that,” Stark says. 

Steve turns back to him and there’s a kindness rooted in Stark’s eyes, a soft fondness that Steve cannot place. 

“I’ll shoe your horse and take a look at all your equipment for a fee, Sheriff Rogers.”

“And what are your rates?” He’s curious to see what a rich man would regard as a fair price.

“A tour of this fair country of yours. I would love to ride out and see the surrounding area.”

Steve looks at him with more than a little doubt.

“I’m in need of fresh air for my health.” He points to Banner. “Ask Bruce, my doctor, there. He wants me to get out of the shop, get away from the forge, and breathe the fresh air. So, will you?”

“Will I?”

“Take me around? Show me the sights?”

“I could arrange for my deputy or-.”

“No, you.”

“That’s highly irregular,” Steve says.

“As we indicated, we do things in an irregular way around here,” Stark says and there’s a mystery, lying there waiting for him to tease it apart and figure out what it all means. 

Steve should say no, but Stark holds the doctor and his blacksmith shop as a dangling carrot for the taking. Both the doctor and the blacksmith are needed if the town is going to stand a chance against Schmidt and his Red Skull gang. He concedes, he has no other choice.

“Yes, sure.”

“That’s perfection, Sheriff, or should I call you Captain?” Stark says and lays eyes on him to bore through the shields Steve always keeps erected.

Swallowing, Steve struggles to find his voice and when he does he croaks out, “Steve will do.”

Stark taps his lower lip once with his silver fork. “Maybe.”

Later, when Steve is walking back to his jailhouse sans his horse, he thinks he might have been bamboozled by Stark and his little gang. He tells himself that he needs the time to get Stark away from his friends otherwise he might never find out what the man is up to and what’s his game. 

He goes over and over this idea in his head as he tips his hat to passersby, as he practices what he’s going to tell Bucky. Of course, he knows it’s all a lie. He can’t say no, not to those eyes, not to that cavalier gaze and slightly sardonic smile. He wouldn’t say no in a thousand years. 

Before he enters the jailhouse, he exhales and mutters, “Dangerous, Tony Stark is dangerous.” 

Even stating the truth won’t stop him from his headlong collision with Tony Stark.

CHAPTER 3  
If discretion is the better part of valor, Steve wonders what an omission of truth would turn out to be. He’s not lying when he reports to Bucky that he’s engaged the services of their new blacksmith to check his horse. Bucky grumbles a bit. He spends the next few days sulking and then drags Steve into the empty jailhouse.

“You gotta be careful here, you know that right?” Bucky keeps his head down and they are out of sight of the narrow window of the jail.

“Bucky, you don’t have to worry about me,” Steve says. He owes Bucky a ton; his friend has never judged him, always looked out for him in more ways than one. “I’m not interested in Stark.”

“I saw your eyes, I saw what you thought, for Christ’s sakes it was written all over your face when you first saw him, like you wanted to drop down on your knees and-.”

“Bucky, don’t be crude,” Steve says and yanks his arm away. Generally, he puts up with a lot from Bucky, and not because of his disability. 

Desperate, Bucky latches onto him again. “Please, Steve, this guy – he’s famous. Word gets out even out here in the boonies. I don’t want happening to you, what happened in that place.”

Steve flinches as if he’s been slapped, and this time he not only jerks his arm from Bucky’s grasp, but also steps away from him, going to the staircase. “What happened in that place-.” He needs to stop because talking about it still conjures nightmares and images he’d like to forget, to burn out of his head forever. “What happened there wasn’t because of -.”

“Your tastes?” Bucky provides and his saddened look does not accuse. 

“No, and you know that.”

Bucky slumps down and collapses into Steve’s chair behind the desk. “Sure I do, Steve, just don’t go courting trouble.”

“I left my horse to get shod, Bucky, that’s all.”

“That’s all,” Bucky nods and absently plays with the deputy badge left out on the desk. Steve was going to give it to Bucky today. Now, with the stale taste in his mouth, he leaves his big surprise to be reconsidered or maybe not at all.

Gripping the rail to the stair case, Steve says, “I’m going up for a quick nap, you watch the shop?” Bucky knows Steve doesn’t sleep well – neither of them do really considering the memories they have to haunt them from the war. 

“Sure,” Bucky says and he’s expression warms notably. It’s almost enough for Steve to relent and announce to Bucky that he has the job as second deputy, but he doesn’t. 

“Just don’t break anything.” He leaves the main office of the jailhouse and climbs up to the solitary room. 

Unbuckling the holster for his gun, he dumps it on the bureau, leaving his hat on the stand and his duster flung over the chair. He pulls off his boots and sets them at the foot of the bed. When he drops onto the cot to sit, he deflates as if he’s been holding out, not breathing for days. He strips off his shirt and folds it to set it aside. Lying back down on the cot he tries to chase sleep, but it’s a harsh and horrible foe these days. After Andersonville – everything became a test of wills. His life is segmented, split, before and after Andersonville.

Andersonville – a prison for Union soldiers – where death became a wished for reprieve. 

The day he walked through the stockade onto the premises of the prison, he often marked as the day he understood the reality of Hell. Seeing men like walking skeletons stare at him with vacant eyes, eyes that did not warn or threaten, only wished for death. He fought to escape in the earliest months of his imprisonment. He tried to break free through the Dead line, the fence to ward prisoners away from the stockade wall. Most prisoners suffered a death shot and were mercifully free of the prison at Camp Sumter. He didn’t get a killing shot, but worse, far worse.

Closing his eyes, Steve forces the images so many years dead to go away and to disappear. All the men, all the Hell he witnessed wedges deep and dark inside and he can’t be free of it. No food, no clean water, no escape the stench of unsanitary conditions. Even years down the line, it brings bile to his throat. He only suffered through seven months at the prison camp; it nearly killed him.

If the lack of basic necessities didn’t mean death for a prisoner, the Raiders and Regulators might be the next to sentence a man to death. He’d interfered with the gangs, tried to stop the carnage and all he received in return had been a report to their captors. A peacemaker was not welcome at the prison camp.

Rolling onto his side, his shoulder pings in pain both phantom and real. He can’t decide if his imprisonment or Bucky’s experience as a tortured soldier could be rated as worse. At least Steve ended up with all his limbs intact. With these thoughts as his companion, he finds his way to slumber.

It only serves to lead him further into the tunnels, the long and lonely places of his memories. These tunnels, the catacombs of his nightmares fill with faces of the dead, here to torment him for living, for surviving when they did not. As he walks through the dreaded caverns, the ghosts take up a line behind him, chanting and mocking him. 

Their voices follow him through his sleep – haunting him, hunting him like a swarm of locust from the Bible to levy justice on his head.

Surrounding him the dead reach out, touching him with their skeletal hands, the flesh rotten and flayed and he’s beseeching them, begging them no. But they are everywhere, every face of the prison, every soldier he sliced and killed. Every one of them to peel away a little more of his sanity.

He jolts awoke, panting. The sun is still high and the heat of the day has begun to settle over their small town. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and sits up, swinging his legs over the bed. Bending over he breathes in and out, trying to wrestle with the horror of his memories more so than the terror of his nightmares.

“You okay?” Clint says and Steve peers up at him. He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp and bright.

“I will be.”

“Darcy’s cooked up a nice lunch at the Parlor, you coming?” Clint asks. 

He checks the position of the sun. “A little late for lunch, what’s up?” He’s not certain he’s fit for company, yet.

“Thor’s brother’s taken off.”

Steve gathers up his shirt, hat, and gun, slips on his boots. He thinks he’ll go out back and have a wash, get the stink of the night terrors off of him. “Where to?”

Clint shrugs a shoulder. “Not sure, Thor’s awful worked up about it. Says his brother’s bent on some half-cocked idea about that potion they brought from the old world. You know that-.”

“Tesseract, yeah, I thought so,” Steve says and stands. “I’m gonna have a wash, then I’ll meet you at Darcy’s and we can talk with Thor. He still hanging out over there?”

“Most times,” Clint says. “He’s sweet on the schoolmarm, and she’s got a room over there with Darcy.”

“Okay, see you in a half hour or so.”

“Water in the trough is cold still. I had to break the ice on it this morning.” 

They head down the stairs and Steve nods. Clint’s behind him and speaking will do no good, the man can’t hear him very well. He reads lips fine as if he was born to do it. Steve heads toward the back of the jailhouse, passes the cells. Clint calls to him, “See you over there.”

Steve only waves at him and slips out through the backdoor. A well sits behind the building with a wide trough near it. It makes for a decent wash when he can’t get to the stream outside of Avenge to bathe. Setting his shirt on the steps to the building, he grabs the cake of soap and dips it into the frigid waters. He hisses but continues his wash, his back toward the door to the prison house.

He runs wet hands through his blonde hair, letting the water drip down his face. He shaved earlier this morning with a small cracked mirror and the water pitcher in the room he shares with Bucky. But it feels good to have the water, so cool and crisp to lift him from the phantoms of his nightmare. 

“They do that to you in the prison?”

Steve jerks and turns to find Stark – Tony- standing at the doorway to the building. His arms are folded and he analyzes Steve with a critical eye. Steve does nothing to hide the old scars lining his back.

“Mister Stark-.”

“Tony, Mister Stark was my father,” Tony says and catches the towel hanging on the hook near the door. He tosses it to Steve, who catches it easily. “I know where you were during those seven months the great Captain of the Union Army disappeared.”

“It’s not a big secret,” Steve says and finishes up his wash, and then turns to dry. 

“I heard some fairly awful stories about the men in there at Andersonville prison camp, how they were nothing more than skin and bones.”

“That’s putting it nicely and, I was lucky, I had a gal that sent food and supplies. Prisoners that had family to help out ended up better than the others,” Steve says, trying to ignore the memories of the Raiders and how they’d extorted what they wanted. 

“A sweetheart,” Tony says and ambles down the last two steps. “That’s nice; she come with you out West?”

“Nope, she left and went back home to England. She was disgusted by the whole thing. Couldn’t understand how the basics worked in America.” Steve doesn’t elaborate. Peggy had been a sweetheart, that’s a good word to describe her. She’d been there to lean on during his incarceration, one of the few people allowed to send him supplies, to give him food and medicines when he needed them. She’d pretended to be his girl, his intended, to ensure his survival. Most of the prisoners had nothing, he’d been one of the lucky ones.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Tony says though he sounds nothing of the sort. 

Drying off, Steve tugs the shirt on, not welcoming the scrutiny Tony’s gives his damaged back anymore. To keep the questions, the always inevitable questions from coming, Steve cuts him off at the pass. “Yes, the scars are from the prison, and yes I was whipped, on several occasions. Believe it or not, most of the damage wasn’t by the guards but by the Raiders. First, because they wanted me to join their gang of bullies and I refused. Then again, when they decided they didn’t fancy me joining up with the Regulators to stop their insidious terrorization of the prison camp.”

Tony looks adequately subdued and Steve feels instantly ashamed. Verbal bullying is still bullying. Before he can say anything, Tony responds, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. You’re just so -.” He stops, stumbles over his words which Steve thinks is a new one for Tony, if he’s reading the man right. 

“Healthy looking,” Steve supplies. “Well, you can ask Bucky, I spent quite a bit of time recovering. He wasn’t there, of course, but he can vouch for it.”

“I don’t doubt you, Captain.”

“It’s Sheriff, now,” Steve says and finishes buttoning his shirt. He pulls out a kerchief from his breast pocket, and ties it around his throat. 

“I don’t think so,” Tony says, his eyes hold a dark mystery to them as if he understands pain and horror. “Look, I am sorry for bringing it up.”

Steve looks down at his boots and then back at Tony. “I’ll forgive you, if you’ll come have coffee with me at the Parlor Inn?”

Tony smiles and it’s swimming and lovely and Steve has to recollect what Bucky warned him about this morning. It is only coffee and he reminds himself that he needs to know the citizens of Avenge as the lawman of the town.

“I think that would be much appreciated, though I did come by to discuss your jail.”

Steve hangs up the towel and climbs back up the steps, knowing that Tony will trail after him, passes the prison cells, toward the front office. Bucky is nowhere to be found, the extra deputy badge on the desk. With gun holster belted on, Steve takes out his own badge and pins it on waiting for Tony to explain. 

“I have some new ideas on hinges and locks, you might like to review,” Tony says.

“I might,” Steve says. “Did you have time to shoe my horse?”

“She’s just outside here, no problems with her hooves. She looks in prime condition, though I think she saw some of the war, too?”

“She did,” Steve says and doesn’t elaborate. 

Tony nods, accepting Steve’s word without further explanation. Steve appreciates it and he gestures for Tony to join him. They walk toward the Inn; in the time Steve rested, the town’s come to life. Several of the citizens tip their hats to Steve and he stops multiple times to discuss any concerns or worries. He spends some time at the General Store going over a probable burglary with the proprietor, Phil Coulson.

“See if you had a proper lock,” Tony butts in and points to the front door of the store.

Coulson peers behind him at the door that has no lock at all. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

Tony smiles that engaging turn of his lips and his eyes sparkle. Steve only rolls his eyes; he has a feeling this is the way it’s going to be – Tony charming everyone in town. “Phil, thought you would have met the new blacksmith by now, this is Tony Stark. Phil Coulson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Coulson says and reaches over to Tony with an open hand.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake hands.” Tony waves him off as if he’s an annoying bee. “You’d be surprised at the amount of germs on the human hand, positively disgusting. Have you looked under a microscope lately?”

Coulson shrugs his shoulders at Tony and Steve only says, “Not lately.”

“Trust me, it’s gross.”

Coulson drops his hand but lifts it and studies it like it’s some foreign object fallen from the sky. As he turns his hand over, Tony continues, “You need a lock.” He rounds Coulson and opens and closes the door. “What the hell. You don’t even actually have a lock.”

“It’s a small town, I know everyone,” Coulson says.

“All the people that come in on the train?”

“They usually aren’t staying long,” Coulson says but he’s already lost the fight and deflates a degree. “When can you install a lock?”

“This afternoon?” Tony says. “I’ll need to do some work on the hinges. You got a back door too?”

Coulson points through the store and into the backroom. “I could show you?”

Tony considers Steve and then looks back at the store.

“If you want to conduct business-.” Steve notches his thumbs in his gun belt. He concentrates on the far horizons, the foothills of the mountains, instead of meeting Tony’s inquiring look. 

“No, no, I’ll come by after that cup of coffee, sound good?” Tony says and Phil only nods in agreement. 

Steve relaxes and is more than a little mortified when Tony spies his slight sigh of relief. He winks at Steve and they continue their walk to the Parlor Inn. Entering the establishment that’s not far from the train station, Steve sees that the afternoon crowd dwindles as the lunch hour recedes. There’s no sign of Clint and Thor, and Steve has to wonder where Bucky might be. Erik wanders through the little tables, on each he places a small mason jar with some wildflowers. He’s replacing the wilted ones.

“Sheriff, Sheriff, come and sit. Please, sit.” He ushers them over to the table nearest the window, one Steve normally sits in when he visits. 

“Thank you Erik.”

“We’re not serving lunch-.”

“Anything for the Sheriff,” Darcy says as she walks out. She’s in her apron with trousers. Tony doesn’t say a thing about her dress and, for that, Steve’s grateful. He’s not especially interested in Darcy taking out her small lash and smacking Tony with it. She keeps it secure to her belt, on most days.

“Just coffee?” Steve asks.

“Coffee and cookies!” Erik says and skips off to the kitchen.

Darcy smiles at Tony and puts a hand on her hip. “Now, you come in here with our Sheriff, I don’t recall saying it would be all right to do that, sir.”

Tony smiles at her and there’s a silent communication between the two that scandalizes Steve and he only clears his throat and wonders if he should leave.

She pats his shoulder. “Don’t go messing with him, Sheriff. He’s trouble.”

Before he can acknowledge Darcy’s warning, Erik is back with a tray. He places a pot of coffee on the table, ceramic mugs, and a plate of cookies. Steve picks up the mug and looks it over.

“Don’t remember ever drinking out of anything but tin cups around here.”

Darcy gives a sidelong glance at Tony. “No, no you don’t.” She leaves them.

Tony claps his hands when they are left alone and grins at Steve. “You are adorable.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says through gritted teeth. 

Tony leans in and Steve scans the room; they are alone. His hand is perilously close to Tony’s hand on the table. “I live an unconventional life, Captain, I’m sure you understand exactly what I’m talking about.”

The dark gaze Tony offers him heats Steve’s flesh but he forces himself not to break the moment. He wants to dig into the feel of it, tunnel further and find out exactly what Stark’s game is but more than that, more than that, he wants to touch his mouth against those mocking lips.

He jars himself out of the moment, and sits back. “I’m sure I do not, sir.” He moves his eyes around the room and cannot believe how close he came, how far he moved into the realm he promised not to tread. 

Tony remains undeterred. “Oh I think you do, good Captain.”

“I’m not a Captain anymore, I retired my commission. I’m the Sheriff now,” Steve says and it sounds trite and small even to his ears. He doesn’t know why he keeps driving this point home. 

Even so, Tony changes his mode of attack. Leaning back, he lets his hands go to his lap as he sizes Steve up. “So, tell me, Captain, why’d you come out West?”

“I think I told you, the job.”

“Well, you had to apply for the job first, so that means you were looking.” 

“There wasn’t much left for me back in New York City. The place is a mess anyhow, with the gang wars.”

“Yes, very nasty, we can agree on that part.” Tony fingers the handle of his mug. “You know, it’s an ugly thing, war.”

“Sometimes it’s a necessary thing,” Steve replies.

“Yes, sometimes,” Tony says and it feels like he’s admitting something to Steve, but he cannot fathom what it might be. He snaps out of his reverie and says, “You and your deputy come out here for the fresh air?”

“Something like that,” Steve says. “We wanted a new start. And seems a lot of places back home treated Bucky like he was an invalid.”

“Oh I bet he hated that,” Tony guesses.

“Well, you’d win that bet. Even with only one arm, Bucky’s quite the shot. He can balance a rifle on that stump as good as any man with two arms. He’s just about as good as Clint with his accuracy though he can’t pick out the range like Clint can.” 

“So you gave up your girl and came out here with your comrade in arms?” 

Steve chuckles a little after he puts the coffee mug down. “No, not really. Peggy, she was the gal who helped me out during my time.” He pauses and then pushes past it. “She wasn’t really ever my girl, though I think we kind of danced around it a lot. I got like two left feet or something.”

“She left you?”

“It was kind of mutual?” Steve says. “She was homesick and couldn’t stand the injustice in a place that had been built on the idea of equality. I think she’d make a good one of those women protesters in New York. She’d like it out here where women get to vote.” 

“Not like it’s much better across the pond.”

“From what I hear, no it is not.” He smiles because Peggy still writes him on occasion. 

“Off to the wild, wild West then,” Tony says. He toys with a cookie but doesn’t really eat it, flips it around in his hands. 

“I could ask you why you ended up out here?”

“Like I said, California, the wild West, more my style. The East Coast is ruled by convention, and I and my little crew are not,” Tony says.

“You say that a lot.”

“What’s that?”

“The convention thing. What’s it mean?” 

The spark in Tony’s expression tells Steve he’s stepped back into the Dead line like they had in the prison camp. Any man that crossed the Dead line was shot, no questions asked. He weighs what it means to break lines with Tony.

“It means, Sheriff Rogers, that I do not live by others’ rules.”

“Do I take that as a threat?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about any threat, Sheriff. The rules I’m talking about are quite different than the typical rules of law.” He leans in toward Steve and there’s a certain gravity, a force behind his words, his expression that draws Steve inward, tugging at him. 

“But I think you are talking about some of the laws, the rules of proper society. There are laws-.”

Tony drinks his coffee and, as he places the cup down, says, “Some rules, my friend, were made to be broken. And what is proper society? I could tell you a thing or two about _proper_ society and where that path leads, Sheriff. But I’d rather show you another path. I’d rather show you a little about the rules of Nature.”

As Steve opens his mouth to question Tony, but Clint picks that time to finally shows up with Thor in tow. “Sheriff.”

Steve stands and offers a hand to Thor. The big man is even taller in his hat and boots. Sometimes Steve feels positively dwarfed by the man. Thor’s duster doesn’t even kiss the wooden floor. 

“Sheriff, your good Deputy here has been spending his precious time with me in hopes that we might uncover some clues as to the whereabouts of my wayward brother.”

“What’s the story?” Steve asks and is keenly aware that Tony’s watching his every move. Instead of allowing it to affect him, Steve only ushers his Deputy and friend to sit and discuss the issue.

“As you may know, Sheriff Rogers, my brother has a peculiar nature.”

“Peculiar nature, what exactly could that mean?” Tony says as he sits back, his eye gleam as he examines each of them. Steve suddenly feels like one of those insects stuck to a board. 

“Means his brother is a good deal more mischievous than would be good for anyone,” Clint fills in and then thanks Darcy as she places another two mugs on the table.

“Loki has a tendency to -.” Steve begins,

“He is a man of science,” Thor says as Clint pours them both coffee.

“More like a man of magic. He’s a snake oil salesman,” Clint says as he finishes filling the mugs. 

“And what’s he into this time?” Steve asks, considering Tony, how he moves and observes. It isn’t a casual kind of observation. Steve’s seen the type of training, the careful calculating eye. He’s seen it in war and prison. 

“It is the Tesseract. I have great fear in my heart that it has taken over his senses,” Thor says. “I cannot get a message out to our mother, for your telegraph man is especially belligerent today.”

“Doom giving people problems again?” Steve says.

“Yeah, yeah. I was going to go-.”

Steve interrupts Clint. “We’ll need to go after him.” It’s no use for Thor to go after Loki; their feuds are legend and bringing his brother back to town won’t be easy. Loki can be volatile and unpredictable and dangerous – all rolled up into one very intelligent man.

“If you will, I will go and get my supplies,” Thor says.

“Not you,” Steve says. “He’ll never come back with you along. Clint, go get Bucky and pack up. Drag him back to town.”

“Can I ask why?” Tony says. “Isn’t Loki or whatever his name is, a grown man? Is he a boy of seven or eight?”

“He is grown and willful.” Thor slams his mug down on the table upsetting some of the coffee pot but not enough to tip it over before Steve steadies it. 

“So, let him go. Family ends up ruining one another in my experience. Leave him to his own devices. It’s really none of your business.”

“It is if they’re heirs to the fortunes of Odinson,” Steve says – the family name is practically royalty.

Tony startles. “You’re Thor Odinson, from Norway? Your family practically rules the North Atlantic. And you putting in the transatlantic telegraph. Some people call it the Bifrost. You’re that Thor Odinson?”

“Aye, it is truth. My brother is one of our greatest inventors. He brought forth many medicines and other -.”

“Potions,” Clint says. “Like snake oil.”

“Clint,” Steve says and stops him.

“My father cares not for Loki, but my mother would be heartbroken if something were to happen to him out here in your American Wilds.” Thor’s shoulders slump which is a feat in and of itself.

“So as not to cause an international incident, you’re going to go hunt down a grown man and force him to come back?” Tony asks.

Steve shrugs. “Something like that. Clint?”

He tips his hat and stands up. “Sure thing.” 

“Thor, we’ll get your telegraph sent. I’ll make sure of it,” Steve says. He’ll have to tackle the unstable Doom in order to get it done. 

“Thank you, I do appreciate your kindness,” Thor says and he gives a small bow to Steve. 

As Steve climbs to his feet, Tony follows him. “I suppose the rest of the day is awash, Sheriff? And I so wanted to bring to your attention the subject of my payment for services rendered.”

Steve lingers as Thor heads toward the doors of the Parlor Inn. The heat remains even as Steve moves away from Tony. He wants to find out what an unconventional life means, he wants to listen to the stories of why Tony can observe and see with such knowing eyes, he wants to confess the desires, of flesh and bone and want of his own. As he tries to formulate a response, Tony licks his lips. A shiver crawls up Steve’s spine and he feels the warmth of it against his face.

“Perhaps, tonight?” Steve says and his voice is low and harsh in his throat.

Tony arches a brow and replies, “Tonight it is.”

CHAPTER 4  
Part of Steve blesses his lucky stars that Loki ran off and he had to send Clint and Bucky after him. The Odinson family and their fortune rival the Rockefellers; Loki off in the wilderness demanded Steve send his deputies after the man. At the very least, Bucky rode off happy, since he’d finally earned the star he wanted. It put Bucky in the foothills of the mountains somewhere, probably gone for a few days and leaving Steve breathing room.

He picks through his clothes, which are few and finds his best shirt. It’s cambric with insets and a button down. It is also his only colored shirt; it’s a soft blue hue and he knows it reflects his eye color nicely. He spends time with the hot iron that he’s warmed on the pot belly stove in the main office of the jail. He doesn’t often iron his clothes or care much about what he’s wearing, but tonight is different.

He tries not to think the trite idea that tonight is special. Buttoning the shirt, he finds a nice embroidered kerchief, one his mother made for him years ago with blue stitched along the edges. Steve ties it around his throat and checks his reflection in the cracked mirror. The split images mock him. He frowns; he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He’s not courting, he can never court a man. 

“Isn’t natural,” Steve whispers but nonetheless combs his hair and shaves for the second time today. He dusts off his boots and polishes them with some spit and elbow grease. He curses low and under his breath. At least there’s no one here in his little room above the jail. “Just for once, I want to try this just this once.” 

He’s always known he was attracted to men, that there was something wrong with him, that his tastes diverted to the deviant and perverse. He’d tried it with Peggy and he’d loved her well enough. He thinks he could have been happy with her, but she knew him better than he knew himself. She understood that he was just borrowing time until he could find a way to satisfy his aberrant urges. She never judged him, but did give him ease to be released without guilt from their ‘on and off’ relationship.

As he completes getting ready, Steve considers his gun belt and weapon. Should he bring them along? He’s only going to the saloon, maybe playing cards, listening to the music. He should bring his gun; he’s the law in the town. But he’s seeing Tony tonight.

“Not courting, Rogers, you’re not courting anyone,” Steve says and straps on the holster. He grabs for his duster and realizes it's a mess. It's not like he's able to clean it regularly, doing his laundry isn't something he enjoys, takes the whole damned day. He supposes he can deal with the chill and tosses the coat back, but then picks it up anyway. He shrugs it on and goes down the staircase.

Night falls over the town in waves of twilight; it's like that out west, different than the east. In the east, night descends but never takes hold. There are lights everywhere from the congestion of people and building. Cities are a never-ending glut of noise and light and smells and people. He could never find his breath as a youngster, and now as a man it constricts him. The west welcomes with its wide open spaces, its unfettered land, and the stars. The stars are something the east with its coal factories and industries blooming everywhere no longer has.

He walks the length of the boardwalk of the main street toward the saloon. It’s nearly time to meet Tony and his nerves tingle and jump. It feels like his skin is popping like Mexican jumping beans. He’s never allowed himself this luxury before, and he knows Bucky would never approve.

It isn’t as if Bucky judged Steve, but he has always wanted to protect him. The West permits certain behaviors. The trail is long and hard for cowboys and steering cattle to their ultimate destination happens to be lonely work that lasts long weeks. Never surprises anyone when a friend lends a hand out in the open country of the range. But get close in toward civilization and the conventions of the society creep back into life.

Besides for Steve it has never been about a friend lending a hand; it’s been about attraction and love. Bucky might not understand it, but he’s always shielded Steve from the disdainful looks of those who would crucify him for his tendencies.

When he pushes open the door of the saloon, several heads pop up from the poker games, the tables scattered throughout the room. A few of the patrons tip their hats and Steve does so in kind. Steve spots Natasha at the bar serving drinks as the crowd begins to warm for the night. He doesn’t see Tony. Natasha sees him and waves him to the corner of the bar, away from the rest of the crowd.

“Upstairs, the big room.”

His face colors, and he’s about to disavow any knowledge of what she might be referring to, but she stops him in his tracks. “No one knows he’s here. He arranged it earlier while you were out wrestling von Doom to send the telegraph. He came in through the back and the girls set him up. Go. I have Skye off the roster tonight; she’s officially seeing you.”

“Natasha,” Steve says and realizes he’s grateful and touched.

She pats his hand. “Go before I change my mind. Skye isn’t one of my girls you know, she’s her own woman.”

“Thanks, Natasha,” Steve says but before he leaves, she loads him with a bottle of wine, glasses, and cheesecloth with food. He smiles and climbs the stairs. There are a few hoots from the floor of the saloon. Rarely, if ever does he part take in Natasha’s roster of girls – in fact he’s never actually done so. 

Logan throws a few crude remarks his way but Steve only shakes his head and continues. He cannot believe how much his palms sweat. It seems to take forever to ascend to the second floor of the saloon. Peering over the railing to the downstairs, Steve meets Natasha’s gaze and she winks at him, shooing him with her hands. Taking a deep breath, Steve turns to the doors to the rooms. He knows that the first room to the left is the largest, nicest room with a good view of the mountains and a large bed, a good lock on the door. It’s been a nice place to house some of the better visitors in town when the Parlor Inn is all booked up. 

He taps on the door and then opens it, not waiting for a response. 

As he swings open the door, Steve scans the room and notes the large bed with the canopy. He still throws wagers around trying to get Natasha to fess up how she managed to get that monstrosity out in the middle of the Western Territories near the Rocky Mountain range. She's always been coy about it, but insanely proud as well. On top of being a massive bed (the grandest he's ever seen) it's well appointed with linens and cushions and pillows and one of Aunt May's beautiful quilts. Next to the bed is a small night stand with a lantern burning, but what draws his attention is the table near the window.

Tony sits with a cane, one leg notched over the other, appraising him. His eyes are critical, assessing, and slightly mocking. Steve steps into the room, not to be dissuaded or intimidated. Standing to the side and out of the view of the hallway, Jarvis waits and closes the door and escorts Steve to the chair opposite Tony. Jarvis unburdens him of the wine and bag of food. 

Each of the high backed cushion chairs at the table are a deep red in color with gold trim. Steve's never seen them before and he suspects they don't belong in the room or in the saloon at all. Tony wears a perfectly tailored white suit with polished white boots; something Steve's never seen before in all of his travels. Tony gets to his feet when Steve joins him at the table and gestures to the other upholstered chair.

An abashed heat warms Steve's face and he's not certain if he should be insulted or honored by Tony's action. He nods and sits. The table between them is laden with an assortment of foods, some of which Steve cannot even identify.

"The blue compliments your eyes," Tony says and he reaches over to touch the cuff of Steve's shirt with his finger. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable without the coat?"

Steve jerks off his hat, thinking how uncouth and uncultured he must look to one like Tony Stark, raised in the highest of society. Getting to his feet, he tugs off the duster, his hat and gun belt and Jarvis is there, taking his belongings and hanging them on a stand near the door. "Excuse me," he says and clears his throat.

Before Steve settles back into the chair, Tony catches his wrist. "Don't do that, don't stand on ceremony. You look wonderful."

Steve freezes any reaction, he can't look into Tony's gaze. It's too present, too dark, too intense to be able to hold without cracking and breaking. He wants to run, escape because even now, he's not sure he can succumb to his own needs, his own desires. All his life, he's spent denying the attraction, ignoring his deviance from the normal. But Tony's here, holding onto him, anchoring him, and he sinks, into the chair, but not pulling his hand away.

Tony holds on, and then cups his other hand over Steve's. Almost to comfort, he says, "There you go, Captain, relax." His words soothe and quiet.

"Not Captain, anymore."

"Are you so sure?" Tony says and slips fingers under his palm and entwines his hand within Steve's.

"Sure," Steve replies but he doesn't sound so convinced. He finds some voice, but he struggles to form the words, the thoughts. "I thought, I thought we were just, meeting for a drink. In the saloon."

"A drink?" Tony says and lays Steve's hand in his own, turns it over, and plays rings into his palm. He touches calluses and tender soft places that send shivers up Steve's nerve endings. "Is that all you want from me, Captain?"

The words come out of him before he's able to think about what he's saying. "No."

Tony relaxes back into his chair, abandoning Steve's hand and leaving him feeling vulnerable, exposed, and hungry. Steve coughs once and sits back as well. "I used to getting what I want, Captain."

"I'm not an item to be possessed, sir."

Tony smiles like a predator but there's a warm glimmer in his eyes. "You are adorable."

"I'm not sure what you find so amusing," Steve returns and thinks he may need to leave, even though he truly wants to stay.

"Would you like to go back downstairs and have that drink, Captain?" Tony asks and he lowers his gaze until it bores into Steve.

"No, I don't see the point in being here, though, I could have come to your house for dinner," Steve says and realizes, almost immediately how rude and how obvious he's being. He needs to keep his mouth shut and stay that way. Talking to Stark is like walking through the swamps in the South, full of traps and dangers.

"Come to dinner, at my house?" Tony says and there's a glint of play in his eyes. "Maybe, maybe my house would be a good place for us to meet, Captain. But you didn't come here for dinner, you didn't come here for a drink. What did you come here for?"

Steve grapples to save face and, thankfully, he finds his way. "To find out a little more about our newest citizen in town. That's part of my job."

Tony smiles with a slight upturn of his lips. "Well, if that's the way you want to play it, Captain. What would you like to know?" He waves Jarvis over to serve them and Steve sits out of the way as the dishes are revealed, including steaming potatoes, corn, large cuts of beef, and ham, fresh fruits and dried ones as well. The wine is poured and rolls are buttered. "Thank you, Jarvis." He peers up at Steve. "Captain, eat and question, I'm ready."

"You're here for a blacksmith job?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I like to work with my hands, I like to create things. And truth be told I had to get away from my father's company."

"It's your company now," Steve points out as Tony urges him to eat with a wave of his fork.

"Yes, it is. Not one I want, at least not until I convert it into something else."

"Something else?"

"My father's company was built on a war machine, and some don't realize it, but there were indentured servants and slaves in those companies even in the North. The North is not so innocent as it believes."

"Slavery was not allowed in the North."

"It was, if the slaves were purchased in the South and transported into the North. Why do you think the Underground Railroad ran through Buffalo into Canada? Slaves didn't want to stop in the United States, not even in the North."

Steve looks down at his meal and the cold pit of the war swallows him up and the food reminds him paradoxically of walking skeletons and death. He places his silver fork to the side and his hands in his lap. "Yes, I know that."

"Did you know that my father's business partner, Stane, transported slaves to the North even during the very start of the war to work in the factories to power the war machine? He smuggled them." Tony says and sips his wine. He hasn't tasted any of the lavish meal. "I fought with Stane about it. He didn't like my position."

"And what happened then? You disappeared during the war-."

"There's a reason the North won, sure we had the better resources, the industry, the war machine, but Lincoln also utilized a network of people who could provide him with much needed intelligence." Tony places the wine glass on the table, touching the lip of the glass lightly. "I went against Stane's wishes and offered my services to my country."

"And you ended up as a spy? I never heard that you spied for the North," Steve says, the gossip had been clear that Tony Stark had been a coward and spent the time playing the scoundrel in high society parties, bedding every available women along the east coast of the North.

"You have to understand, Captain, the Southern sympathizers weren't only in the South," Tony says. "I only regret I wasn't able to provide the information to stop Lincoln's assassination."

Stunned to silence, Steve studies Tony and tries to ferret out if he's being fed a line or if the man is earnest in his tale. It's hard to tease out, but the tenacity of Tony vibrates in the room like pulses of electricity. He finds his voice. "You disappeared for some time during the war."

"Yes, Stane retaliated once he had to set the slaves free and couldn't import more, he took his revenge."

"Revenge?" Steve asks and suddenly and unexplainably feels protective of Tony.

"Yes, Stane had his goons kidnap me. It wasn't pretty and I'll bear the scars for the rest of my life, such as it is." Tony lays a hand on his chest, subconsciously, and Steve furrows his brows as he sees a certain pallor, and sorrow shift over the usually exuberant man. He snaps out of it. "Now, Captain, eat, we have much to talk about and more to plan."

"Plan?" Steve scrapes the fork along the plate as he eats. His appetite back, along with his curiosity, he enjoys the food again. It's too good to waste.

"Yes, tell me where will we venture out to when you take me on these rides? The mountains? The rivers, the long plateaus?"

Steve smirks. "I have a feeling you are no tenderfoot, sir."

Tony leans over the candle lit table as the lights lend more shadow to the room than illuminate it. In a low timbre, Tony says, "But you are, aren't you Captain?"

His heart picks up in speed and the lighting closes down to their circle. He's not even sure if Jarvis is still in the room. "I'm not sure what-."

Tony shifts and abruptly is at Steve's feet, kneeling, hands on his knees. "I live an unconventional life, Captain, because I've seen what it means to come close to death. So have you, you've seen death, you've smelt the terror of it. So tell me Captain, tell me, will you continue on in your charade or will you follow down my path and lift the mask of convention."

"You talk in flowery language, sir." Tony's hands on his knees burn and he wants nothing more but to jump up and race away, but that isn't true. No. It isn't true at all. He holds back, fists his hands not to grab Tony and jerk him up and plaster his lips against that arrogant mouth. The flame of the candle flickers in Tony’s eyes. 

"Yes, I do. Do you want to see what else I can do," Tony says and his hands creep upward along Steve's legs.

He wants, he's desperate after so many years of loneliness, but also because Tony intrigues him, sets fire to his skin, and steals his ability to even focus on anything else but those eyes, his intense eyes. He cannot stop himself, the lure of Tony compels him forward and, even though he ends up only inches from Tony's face, he doesn't pull away. "Yes." It sounds like a whimper. It sounds like a prayer. It sounds like a whispered plea.

Tony raises his hand and slips it along the side of Steve's jaw, cupping it and then searches his expression as if testing it. He must like what he sees because he says, "Yes, I think you do."

Only a breath away, everything Steve desires, the dreams and promises to touch another, to feel the bristle of a man’s beard against him. He should run, he should heed Bucky’s advice, because going down this path will only lead to ruin. 

He listens to none of it as Tony brings his hand to cradle the back of Steve’s head and guide him forward. The first touch graces his lips like a dance of wind, it is light, and airy, and stolen. Yet, Steve falls into it as if it drags him downward, an undertow daring to draw him under the waves. He welcomes it. His lips are dry and he fumbles but Tony shows him, with a stroke of a tongue soft and surprising, glancing over his lips and urging him to open. 

He follows and the entrance of Tony into his mouth, hot and moist, brings a muffled moan to his lips. It only deepens the response, the pulse of his heart, the absence of breath, the tight coil like a pained pleasure twisting low in his groin. He surges forward, not caring how blatant and needy he must seem to someone like Tony. But Tony responds by wrapping his arm around Steve, hauling him close until Steve’s nearly falling from the chair. 

As they wobble with Steve perched on the edge of the chair, Tony breaks the kiss and flickers his gaze back and forth from Steve’s mouth to his eyes and back again until finally he pulls them apart. “Captain, I want this to be something special for you. Not just a roll in the hay.”

“It is special,” Steve says and his voice is oddly low in key and rasped. “I haven’t ever-.”

Tony places a single finger on Steve’s lips. “Shush, I know.”

It occurs to Steve that Tony knows because of his inexperience and Steve colors in response.

“No, don’t do that,” Tony says. “It’s sweet and wonderful to meet someone so unstained by the world. I want to learn everything there is about you, Captain. I want to drink you in and feel you in my bones. I want to know that when I wake in the morning I’ve discovered everything there is to know about you.”

It is Steve’s turn to search Tony’s eyes, but he finds no answers. “Why, why me?”

Tony moves back into his seat but doesn't release Steve's hands. It is only then that Steve realizes Jarvis remains in the room, quiet, unassuming, an observer. With light caresses of Steve's hands, Tony says, "You intrigue me, Captain." He bows his head for a moment, and then looks up. "The honorable Captain captured in the deep South, tortured but still fighting for the rights of the little guy in the prison camp. You are a giant among men."

"I'm just a kid from Brooklyn."

"You are so much more than that, Captain, so much more." Tony gazes at him and it penetrates with such skill, Steve considers whether or not he might be favored with some kind of magic or supernatural power. "I want to find out everything about you."

"You said that," Steve replies and thinks he might be lost, he might surrender every part of himself that he normally keeps so reserved and closed inside. Steve breaks away, folding his hands in his lap. He cannot do this, it isn't right.

"You're not damned, you know," Tony says, as if he’s read Steve’s thoughts, knows his reservations. He's not deterred at all and this surprises Steve. He would have guessed that a person like Tony, someone born into and used to all that the best of society could offer, would be angry, even dissuaded in his pursuit, but he isn't. Instead, Tony offers words to soothe what he perceives is Steve discomfiture.

"I am," Steve says and doesn't continue. 

"Would you damn me?"

"It isn't me that would damn anyone, Tony," Steve says.

"This is your God then?"

"I would think it would be your God as well," Steve says. "I know that there's something wrong with me."

"Were you born that way?" Tony asks and folds his arms and leans on the table; he reminds Steve of lawyers he's watched in his experience as a law man.

"I suppose."

"And God made you?"

"Yes."

"So he made you just to damn you?" Tony asks and picks up his wineglass. "Seems like a very shitty thing to do."

Steve shifts in his seat. He's not sure how they ended up discussing and debating religion. He opens his mouth to say something but then realizes he has no defense, nothing to say except for the obvious.

Tony smiles and shakes his head. The rueful look softens Steve and he allows his hackles to quiet. “Captain, I don’t mean to offend, maybe enlighten, but not offend. I’ve come close to death, so have you. I decided that I won’t allow anyone or any manmade law decide how I might live.”

“Is that a threat to the law, sir?”

The play of emotions across Tony’s face intrigues and stirs something deeper in Steve. “Oh, I like that you call me sir.”

“It’s only out of respect, which I am not sure that you’ve earned.”

Tony grasps Steve hand again. “No, then how should I earn it, Captain?” 

He wants Tony; he needs to be honest with himself. He’s denied and obfuscated about his tendencies for too long. His gaze has dropped, he’s pulled his hands away and they lie fallow in his lap. He bows his head and wonders what else is there to say. Should he fight this urgency, this need? Is his God merciful, or is will God damn him?

Abruptly, Tony stands next to him and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let me tell you a story, Captain. It might ease your mind.”

“I don’t think it’s a time for stories,” Steve says and cannot believe how wrecked his voice sounds. He shouldn’t have sent Bucky away. Bucky has been his anchor and his compass all at once. He needs his friend to guide him and keep him grounded. If he chances upon these troubled waters, he may very well drown in them. He’s not a sailor, he can’t do this.

“No, but it is time for truths,” Tony says and his words are tender, loving.

Steve leaves the safety of staring at his empty hands to look up at Tony. He finds a certain sadness echoed in Tony; this is a gift to Steve – this truth etched in Tony’s expression. “What truth?”

“Let’s just say, Captain, that happenstances of my life changed me. Some for the good, some for the bad,” Tony says. “I want to share the good with you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Call me curious? Call me attracted? Call me someone not willing to wait any longer, someone who cannot wait any longer.” 

This draws Steve to his feet and he’s taller than Tony at least by a head, but he feels dwarfed by Tony’s presence, his attitude, his self-assurance. “I don’t know Tony, this is a first for me. I haven’t ever.” He doesn’t want to admit he’s never truly given into his thoughts, his desires. He shouldn’t feel ashamed of that fact, but proud, yet somehow, in front of Tony, the embarrassment of years of lying overcomes him. 

“Come with me to bed,” Tony says and reaches up to caress the line of Steve’s cheek. “You’re intriguing to me, Captain, but more so the good in you, the good is my elixir. I want it. Come with me to bed. It’s why you came here, you know that, I know that.”

Steve glances around the room, but cannot find any sign of Tony’s manservant and he wonders when the man slipped out. He lowers his gaze again and his heart burns fire in his chest so much it feels like his breathing problems all over again. “You’re right,” Steve says and his own voice sounds so very far away. “Yes, you’re right. I came here for you. I came here for this, but now-.” He hates being a coward.

Tony slides his hand behind Steve’s head and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

They’re slowly drifting to the bed and the fire in Steve’s chest destroys his ability to breathe. He’s not fighting, he’s allowing, he’s closing his eyes and falling onto the soft bedding, feeling the weight of Tony on top of him. 

“Let me show you the truth, Captain, let me show you, you’re not damned,” Tony says and kisses him with a light, drag of a dry kiss. It titillates more than submerges him into the moment. And then Tony pauses, hanging over Steve waiting.

It occurs to Steve that Tony is actually attempting some civility, giving Steve the choice, the ability to say no. He doesn’t want to say, no. He wants to plunge in and forget how singed his soul will be.

“I wa-.”

A rapping on the door stops them. Steve cringes and says, “Who is it?”

“Just me, Steve, we have a problem. Bucky’s back and.” Natasha stops, and clears his throat as if it is difficult to say the next words. Without thought, Steve sits up and Tony rolls off to the other side of the bed. “Clint didn’t make it.”

“What?” Steve jumps off the bed and crosses the room in one breath. Unlocking the door, he peers out. “Clint didn’t make it?”

“You might want to come down, Bucky’s a mess.”

Steve braces himself against the door frame, closes his eyes, and nods. “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

When he opens his eyes again, she’s still there. Her glance shifts to the room, and the bed, and then back to him. “Don’t take too long. I need someone to hold him down while I get the poison out.”

“I’m coming.” 

She nods and then he closes the door only to turn to Tony. His whole body vibrates with the wild swing of emotion. He’s near panic in two different ways but he holds it together by sheer willpower.

Somehow, Tony is by his side, saying, “I’ll get Bruce. Meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” 

When Steve doesn’t move immediately, Tony adds, “Rain check, darling?”

Steve colors and finds himself agreeing before grabbing his weapon. He rushes downstairs to find out what’s happened to his best friend and anchor. Even as he pushes through the crowd, he understands it is his fault, he’s damned and he’s cursed everyone else. It’s his fault this happened to Bucky and Clint. He shoves everyone aside to find Bucky laid out on one of the pool tables near the back of the saloon with a garish dagger wound in his side. 

It is all he can do to keep it together when he sees the distressed look in Bucky’s eyes. But then he realizes Bucky isn’t looking at him at all. Steve peers over his shoulder to follow the line of Bucky’s gaze, only to see Tony slipping out the back door of the saloon. 

Steve turns back to Bucky, and even as he reaches for his hand, he apologizes, “Bucky, I’m so-.”

Dazed and pained, Bucky grimaces and squeezes his eyes closed, never giving absolution before he succumbs.

CHAPTER 5  
The screaming echoes through the jailhouse. Every howl, every cry, every sob stabs into Steve's heart as if the dagger that pierced through Bucky's back and side sliced him instead. Doctor Banner threw him out of the room when he couldn't help any longer, when it became apparent that just the thought of what they needed to do to Bucky caused him to lose all semblance of rational thought.

Thor is up there as is Tony's friend, Happy. They're up there holding Bucky down as Bruce works to clean the wound, lance out the poison, and gets the fragments of the knife out of Bucky's internal organs. Squeezing his eyes shut, Steve leans against the window frame and clamps a hand over his eyes. Tony puts a hand on his shoulder, and Steve's grateful but he cannot allow it. He moves away and doesn't look back to see if there's disappointment in Tony's eyes.

Natasha is upstairs with the rest of them, helping or doing what she can. He's not sure, because his brain boils at what happened. He's lost Clint and Bucky - if he losing Bucky he doesn't think he can stomach it, he knows he can't stomach it. This is his curse, he should have listened to Bucky.

He’d ventured down the wrong path, the path toward damnation and everyone in his life will suffer because of it. He needs to tell Tony to leave, but he can't. He's indebted to him, Doctor Banner is here because of Tony. He steels his resolve and brings his lowered gaze up to meet Tony's eyes. The sorrow and pain etched there tell a different story, a story that Steve cannot fathom. He's seen that look before, he knows that look down deep in the hollow of his bones. It's a part of him, sings out in the night like a terrible phantom, a ghost in his memories to haunt his nights and his days. As he's about to question Tony, another screech of pain splits the air like the crack and flash of a lightning bolt, and Steve glances up to the stairwell and the upper room where the doctor works.

It's Darcy who appears at the top of the stairs, her hands are bloody and her eyes dark. "He wants you."

Without a second thought, Steve races up the stairs, taking the broken steps two at a time. He shoves past Darcy and mumbles an apology and enters the room. There's blood pooling on the floor beneath the cot, there's the stench of metal and iron, and festering wounds. He steels himself, forcing the lurking memories away to focus on the present and not the terror of the past. 

The room smells like death, like pus and festering wounds. He glimpses the thick poison seeping from the wound and it looks like pus, like an infection. How fast could it go bad? It's only been hours.

"Come, Sheriff, we need your assistance," Thor says and Steve nods, noting that Happy is in the corner throwing up into the ceramic bowl for the water pitcher.

Steve crosses the small space and takes up Thor's place at Bucky's shoulders while Thor holds down his legs. Bucky is lying prone and the doctor's is working perilously close to his spine. Bucky clenches his teeth around an old rag and his eyes are splayed open, the white red with blood.

"No morphine, nothing to put him out?" Steve asks.

Natasha only shakes her head as she says, "He keeps refusing."

“Bucky, let them help you with the pain,” Steve says but his friend clenches as his collar with a severe expression.

Through gritted teeth, he snarls, “Don’t let them cut it off. Steve, don’t let them cut it off.”

“What?” Steve says with a sidelong glance at Natasha. She only shakes her head in response. 

“Don’t cut it off,” Bucky screams, spittle flying everywhere as he grapples to get to his knees.

“Sheriff,” Doctor Banner warns.

Steve presses down with his full weight. “Bucky, I promise, listen to me, I promise.”

The words comfort and, while the tension remains, he settles enough that Banner can examine the wound without fear of being thrown off by a raging patient.

"Hold him down, I need to clean out the wound, I’ve never seen a wound like this – it’s like it’s festering," the doctor says and with Natasha, they work their way into the wound along Bucky's side and his back.

Keeping pressure on his friend, Steve lends the whole of his strength of it. He's no novice when it comes to operations, and surgeries. In the war, he saw many a soldier pinned down and sawed upon, taking limbs without any relief of ether. There's no ether out in the middle of the Western Territories. Gulping back the nausea, Steve tries to focus on Bucky, tells him to let go and pass out. But his friend's eyes look like that of a rabid dog, crazed, pained, and confused.

“Let them give you something, cowboy,” Steve says and it elicits the barest of smiles from Bucky. They’d always laugh around the fire after a long day of battle, talking about escaping it all and going out to the Western range to become cow punchers. 

Still, he doesn’t convince him. “No, no.”

"Shouldn't look like this." He hears the doctor state as he pulls out what looks like viscous green pus.

"I've never seen anything like it before," Natasha agrees as she pours more alcohol along the bloody gash. Bucky jerks in response.

"Hold him still," Doctor Banner snaps, his anger evident in the flush of his cheeks, the harsh furrow of his brows. 

"Bucky, come on, now, it's Steve," he says and tries his best to be soothing but the wound is ugly, horrifying and Steve tries everything to hold back the bile and his dinner. Bucky pants and huffs in harsh exhalations through his nostrils. There's drool and blood dripping out of his mouth, staining the rag he’s biting between his teeth, again.

"Can you clamp that down, while I clean this out?" Natasha says and Steve shifts to see the spurt of blood from the gaping wound. The doctor works to do as Natasha asks but Bucky holds onto consciousness making it difficult.

Steve lowers his weight onto Bucky and avoids looking at the pus sluggishly oozing from the new wound. "How did it happen? How could it get bad like that? He's only been gone a a half dozen or so hours."

Banner doesn't answer but the wash of alcohol over the wound sends Bucky up on his knees with Steve, Thor, and a remorseful Happy struggling to keep him down on the cot. Bucky spits out the rag, and growls out a scream.

“No cutting, don’t cut it off.” He’s delirious with the pain, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. With no other choice, Steve crawls up onto the cot, and pulls Bucky down onto his chest, with his legs wrapped around him.

"Get your boots out of my surgical site," Banner hisses and slaps Steve's feet down, but at least now, Steve can hold Bucky in his embrace as his friend bites down on Steve's shoulder. Thor and Happy grasp onto his legs again, holding him steady.

Steve doesn't cry out, or say anything as the minutes pass and Bucky tears through his shirt, as his skin is ripped, and blood smears down his back. He cups a hand behind Bucky's head and keeps him there, only murmuring quiet words of comfort to try and help his friend. Once Banner finishes, Steve lifts Bucky up, not allowing Thor to help, as they clean up. He holds Bucky in his arms as his friend falls into a fitful sleep. He gently settles Bucky on the cot, hating the damage done.

He covers Bucky with the quilt and stays by his side for moments longer to ensure that he will not wake. When he's convinced that his friend is truly asleep, he leaves the room to go down to the main office of the jailhouse. Everyone is there, milling about, but Tony and his friend Happy. Steve doesn't spot Tony anywhere.

“He’s asleep now,” Steve says and Natasha nods. There’s a worn look about everyone, the town’s about had it with the drama. They all look threadbare and beaten. It must be Schmidt behind the attack, trying to scare them enough to make it impossible to fight back.

In the corner Bruce pushes off the wall and says, “The poison is something different, I recognize the chemistry of it but then again not. I haven’t seen it before. Tony’s gone to look something up on it. I don’t think I got it all.”

“Got it all?” Steve says.

“I’ve never seen a wound fester in a matter of hours,” Natasha says. “What kind of knife was it and why did it go bad so quickly?”

“I may be able to offer some assistance,” Thor says and his expression only leads Steve to believe that he’s not going to like what he hears. “There are my poisons and natural herbs my mother knew. This one, I am sure, will go to his brain and he will suffer for it.”

“What does that mean?” Bruce says. 

“Have you not heard of Saint Anthony’s Fire?” Thor asks.

“I’ve heard of it, yes,” Bruce says and he shares a concerned glance with Steve. “It’s a fungus, ergot. It can cause someone to have hallucinations, out of body experiences, changes in personality, even cause issues with limbs.”

“Damn it,” Steve says as he looks up to the darkened stairwell. “Issues with limbs?” He knows how much Bucky suffers through the phantom pain, the nightmares of his torture. He doesn’t want him to go through something like that again.

“It’s different than that, though,” Bruce remarks.

“But here is what I fear,” Thor says and his voice drops as he bows his head. “I feel that if the concoction used to poison the knife, that pierced your good friend in his back had been formulated by my wayward brother, it may be even more serious, more potent than that. A powerful mixture of ergot and Loki’s known brilliance for formulations.”

“How? How is that possible?” Bruce asks his eyes a glinting with anger. Steve catches his arm to try and calm him. 

“Loki is a master in chemicals and pharmacopeia. He’s learned a great many things from our mother. He learned young, always impressing the adults in our family. He’s been able to convince many that he has a supernatural, almost magical power because of his abilities,” Thor replies, his shoulder slump. “If the knife was laced with one of Loki’s potions-.”

“Then Bucky’s in for worse than we can predict,” Steve states.

“Aye, Sheriff, we will need to find my brother if it is true,” Thor says and he’s disgruntled by the matter, his normal jovial outward exterior evaporated. 

“Would Loki throw in with the Red Skull gang?” 

Thor studies him as he answers the question. “I cannot tell you, but I do know that my brother dreams of riches and power. He has always felt slighted by the fact our father left his lifework to me, instead of him, though he be the better student.”

A thousand questions collide in Steve’s head about the family business, Loki’s knowledge, the scope of the poison, but he needs to focus down to the point. Natasha interrupts him with her darkened mood.

“Clint’s still out there,” Natasha says, her eyes like bullets shot to his heart.

“I know, I can’t leave the town-.”

“You don’t want to leave Bucky,” Natasha retorts and she’s fire and rage more so than any of the preachers with their tales of brimstone he’d seen on the trail leading out West. 

“No, I don’t,” Steve says. He knows she’s furious, everyone in the room can read her. He won’t lie, but he will be brutally honest with her. “No, I won’t leave Bucky, or the town. Right now, whoever did this, whether it’s Loki-.” Thor starts to protest but Steve raises his hand to stop him. “Whether it’s Loki, or Schmidt got his hands on some of this concoction, then the town and everyone, _everyone_ in it needs me to stay put.”

“And Clint?” Natasha says and while she’s not backing down, she’s listening to reason. Russians when it comes right down to it, are a pragmatic people. That’s one good thing about Natasha, she’s a business woman, shrewd, cunning, and reads people like others read the newspaper. And she’s Russian.

“I’m not leaving him out there, regardless. Come morning, I’ll send a telegraph out to Falcon and get some help from there.”

“Falcon?” Thor being one of the new residents of the town doesn’t know much of Steve’s history or his connections.

“Small town a bit southwest of here, friend of mine’s lives there. He’s a deputy.” He eyes the rest of the room. “Is it gonna be a problem for me to bring Sam here?”

“Shouldn’t be, and if there is I’ll set them straight,” Natasha promises.

Sighing, Steve collapses into the chair behind the desk and then waves the crew out of his jailhouse. “You might as well get some sleep. It’ll be a long night and we have to figure out just who’s behind this.”

Everyone leaves but the doctor, he lingers at the stairwell. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go check on him again.”

“Be my guest,” Steve replies and stares at the empty door.

Before the doctor mounts the stairs, he says, “He’s awfully fond of you.”

Turning, Steve asks, “Who, Bucky?”

He laughs, a small almost silent sound. “Well, I’m sure he is, too. But I was talking about Tony. He’s very fond of you.”

Steve presses his lips together as memories of the evening flood through his brain. Embarrassingly, he’s hot and sweating as he thinks about Tony pressed up against him. He feels the pool drain further down into his groin and he clears his throat. He needs to focus. He’d like to think that the doctor is telling the truth, but the fact remains that Tony and Steve barely know one another. “He doesn’t really know me, does he?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the doctor replies and starts to climb the stairs.

Before he disappears, Steve jumps up and asks, “You’re a mysterious lot, you know that, right?”

Bruce only scratches at his temple and shrugs.

“I’m wondering if there’s something I should be worried about?”

Shaking his head, Bruce says, “Lots of people come out West to get away from the repression of the East. I would think you would appreciate that.”

Steve leans on the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “I just don’t see Mister Stark as being all that repressed, considering his lifestyle and what his wealth has afforded him.”

Instead of continuing his ascent up the stairs, the doctor steps down and says, “Sometimes it isn’t about wealth, Sheriff. Sometimes it’s about living life on your own terms. Tony is someone who wants to live his life as full as he can, while he can. If he’s fond of you, I would take that as a sincere compliment and, if you’re truly interested, consider returning his affections.”

The heat flushes to his face and Bruce smiles, almost sweetly to have elicited the response.

Bruce waits only for a few moments more and when Steve cannot come up with an adequate rejoinder, he says, “You’ll find me upstairs.”

In the end, Steve feels like an insufferable idiot for questioning Tony’s motives. The truth of the matter is – he knows what Tony’s gone through – at least as a man who’s always felt he had to hide his feelings and his interest in other men. It’s obvious why Tony would escape the East to find his fortune out West. It isn’t about money but freedom. The West offers many things, opportunity is one, freedom is that other. 

Even his friend Sam Wilson, a former slave, went westward when the war ended. He didn’t wait around looking for opportunity in a land overrun by carpetbaggers and former slave owners looking to shore up their wealth and status in a post-slavery world. The West presented a fresh start for many. 

It’s one of the reasons Steve ended up out West, that and the fact he wanted to hide from his own needs, hoping that hard work would burn out his deviant ways. He goes to the pot-belly stove and places a tin coffee pot on it, setting up the old beans to use again. He pulls apart the tin metal sieve and mixed up the crushed beans. He sets it up with the water and then throws another log on the fire to help the coffee percolate. 

Once he’s finished, he decides to go and visit Bucky, but just as he turns the doctor descends the stairs. He’s wiping his hands on a rag and says, “He’s sleeping but the wound doesn’t look good. I’m concerned that what the big fella-.”

“Thor?”

“Yes, Thor said about the ergot being laced with something special from his brother’s concoctions, might be right.” 

“Then I’ll make sure I get Loki back in town to help out,” Steve says as he moves past the doctor.

“He’s sleeping, not much you can do now,” the doctor says.

“I can sit with him, if he wakes,” Steve says and continues up the stairs. When he enters the room the smell of sickness and blood hits him in the face and he grips the door frame, as his head spins. He closes his eyes and tries to steady himself, but it’s too much and he needs to back away, get fresh air.

Yet moving into the darkened hall only invites the images, the monsters to follow him and he’s there again – in the prison camp – and the smell becomes a living thing. The reek embodies all of the fear and revulsion. It shapes before him and the filthy tents, the heat and humidity of the place drawn up with the scent of human waste, of humans wasting away, of pus and sickness – it culminates to the feel of the whip as it slices across his back because he’s defended the defenseless, tried to make it an easier place to survive. The horror of it, the terror of it turned men into beasts and no one allowed the slightest humanitarian act. Regardless of their similar fates as prisoners, there were those who would use it to their advantage. 

Hanging by his wrists, cuffed and beaten, smelling the putrid stench of the men around him, sick, infected, dying. They hung him up, whipped him with a scourge because he tried, he helped one of the sick men the other prisoners wanted to ravage, to rifle through his belongings when he finally succumbed to death. The sharp lash of the whip had been nothing compared to the smell as he hung for hours after the beating, as the blood and sweat smeared down his back through the rivulets of flayed skin.

He gags and rushes down the narrow, broken stairs, nearly falling as he ends up in the jail office bent over the waste basket, puking. He thinks it’s over but it’s not as his stomach roils and he vomits up the last of his dinner, the pain streaks in his eyes and nostrils. He spits out the last of it and a hand settles on his back between his shoulder blades.

A fine linen cloth is placed in his hands and he wipes his mouth, and then looks up. He’s given a tin cup of water. He drinks as he sees Tony standing over him. “Tony?” His voice is rasped and it burns to talk.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Steve stands up from the basket and goes to the side cabinet where he keeps a water pitcher and bowl for quick clean ups. He pours out the lukewarm water and notices that Tony picks up the garbage bin and brings it outside. When he returns the bin is pristine and doesn’t smell anymore.

Steve cleans up and rinses his mouth. “Thank you. I didn’t know you came back.”

“Bruce came back. He’s concerned for your friend,” Tony says and looks to the staircase. “Says it doesn’t look good.” He digs something out of his pocket. It’s a small bottle. “It’ll help your friend, it’s for the pain.”

“What is it?” He accepts the small brown bottle.

“It’s something Bruce and I cooked up – it’ll help.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Steve nods but doesn’t move to go upstairs.

“Would you like me to check on him?” Tony offers. 

“I think I can,” Steve says but he’s not looking forward to facing the room again.

“Come on then,” Tony says and starts up the stairs. Steve doesn’t say anything but the gratitude he feels softens more of the doubts and worries he has regarding Tony. By the time they climb up the flight of stairs, Tony grabs onto the wall and pants a few times, as if trying to catch his breath.

“Are you okay?” Steve says.

Tony presses a hand to his chest, swallowing several times while his face drains of color. He manages to say, “Too much excitement for one day.”

Steve grasps his arm and helps him into the single room upstairs from the jail. There’s a chair and he helps Tony to sit down. Bucky’s asleep on the bed and quiet for the time being. It isn’t Bucky that Steve’s worried about, it’s Tony. Obvious pain wrecks him, and he squeezes his eyes closed, trying to pace his breathing.

“Tony?” Steve says and it’s his turn to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

He mouths a word, but Steve doesn’t catch it.

“What’s that?”

He clutches onto Steve’s arm and, in the barest whisper, says, “Bruss.”

“Bruss? Brus- Bruce?” Steve says. “Damn it. I’ll get him, I’ll get him.”

He races down the stairs, skipping them and bashing into the wall, cracking it. He slams through the door and rushes toward Tony’s house on the opposite side of the Main Street and in the back alley way. Several onlookers call to him, but he ignores them and heads straight toward the old blacksmith shop and the houses behind the main thorough fare of Avenge. Clamoring up the few wooden steps he pounds on the door.

In seconds, Jarvis answers, “Yes, sir?”

“Tony, he needs the doctor, now.”

Jarvis jumps to alertness and he disappears so quickly and Bruce appears he swears that there’s something magical about how Jarvis can do it. 

“What is it?” Bruce asks and Pepper walks out of the parlor.

“It’s Tony, he’s not well.”

Bruce searches for something, but then Pepper has his bag and shoves it in his hands. Pepper and Bruce follow him out with a call from Jarvis to take care of Tony. It’s a strange household to be sure. 

Without further word they head back to the jail, Steve only looks behind him once to see the pinched worried face of Pepper. He slows and takes her arm, helping her along. 

“Thank you, Captain.”

He says nothing only directs her to the jailhouse and they all end up climbing the stairs to find Tony on all fours, struggling to inhale, pale, and drooling on the floor. Bruce scrambles to his side first as Pepper helps by righting him.

“Come on, Tony,” Pepper says and her voice is ruined.

He mumbles something, but it’s a jumble of words. 

“Open his mouth,” Bruce orders and Steve cups Tony’s jaw in his hand, squeezes his thumb and finger into the space between his upper and lower jaw to force it open. The glassy eyed look, the clammy skin, the tinge of blue on his lips scares Steve. 

Bruce stuffs something under Tony’s tongue and then Steve releases his grip. Tony shudders and falls back against Pepper. He’s not unconscious but he’s limp and drained. Pulling out a stethoscope, Bruce strings it on and listens to Tony’s heart. Steve wonders how much he can actually hear considering Tony’s ragged breathing. 

“We need to get him back to the house,” Bruce says.

“I can carry him,” Steve replies.

“No,” Tony protests, but his attempts to move are uncoordinated and feeble. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tony,” Pepper says and she turns to him. “Thank you, Captain.”

Crouching, Steve slips his arms around Tony, holding him bridal style and then standing to make the hazardous way down the stairs. He only hopes Bucky will continue to rest as he leaves the jail house. Pepper guides him and it’s relatively easy as a task, though Tony seems more upset by the time they get to the lower floor. He’s visibly ill, his cheeks and forehead wet with perspiration as if he’s done the heavy lifting. 

For some reason, Steve feels insanely, inexplicably protective of Tony and holds him closer, allowing his head to fall against his chest. Tony grabs onto him, tugging the fabric of his Cambric shirt, but Steve doesn’t complain. He walks toward the house, remembering their words from earlier in the evening, their dance and touch of flesh and their kiss. It is something he longs for, something wants deeply. 

As he approaches the house, Pepper hurries forward and opens the door, leading him to a small room off the parlor; it is set up as a hospital room. Steve frowns but doesn’t ask, he only lays Tony on the bed as Bruce enters and goes to work.

Stepping outside the room, Steve watches from the parlor – as both Pepper and Bruce work on Tony with silent efficiency. It’s plainly obvious they’ve done this before, that they have a routine to their actions. Neither of them speak as they go about their work, they know the routine, they need no instructions. He cringes and turns to leave only to bump onto Jarvis.

“Sorry,” he says and he goes to the door. He needs to get back to Bucky, who is ill as well, and alone.

“Sheriff Rogers?”

Steve faces the servant. “Yes?”

“Thank you for coming.”

It sends him off his game, as if Jarvis can read through his poker face. He’s never been good at cards, he’s not much of a bluffer. “No problem.” Before he leaves, he asks, “Will he be okay?”

Jarvis only gives him a mournful smile. “I’m afraid not, Mister Stark is dying.”

CHAPTER 6  
It gets colder, and stiller in the West when October settles in, but Steve hangs on to the window frame staring out into the hills with their leaves coloring like fire, and farther still to the mountains surrounding the town and thinks of nothing but the deathly pallor of his friend. He should be free of the poison, but he’s not. It’s done something to his brain. 

The doctor – Bruce – hunches over the cot where Bucky has been hold up like some kind of imbecile – or lunatic rambling and mumbling about ghosts and phantoms that are not there. Sometimes, Bruce needs Steve to push Bucky down, to hold him in place as they wrench open his mouth and dose him with something to calm his nerves. 

Steve hates it, loathes having to do this to Bucky, because he knows what Bucky has endured at the hands of a mad man who didn’t even have the blessings of the Confederacy for his actions. Bucky hisses at him, deranged and out of his mind as they yank his mouth open and pour the tincture of liquid down his throat. He coughs and gags but isn’t able to spit it up despite trying. With Steve holding his jaw shut and Bruce pinching his nostrils closed he has no other choice.

Eventually the drug takes him away, and Steve relaxes, not asking Bruce what the dose was, not asking Bruce how dangerous it is to have him in this state. Finally, he’s able to stand up and leave Bucky’s side though Bruce follows him out of the room.

“Maybe you should think of taking a little time off,” Bruce says. “I can sit with him.”

“No, thank you, Doctor Banner-.”

“It’s Bruce, and he won’t know you’re not here,” Bruce says as he hangs in the doorway, half watching Steve, half watching his patient.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll know,” Steve replies.

After a moment’s silence, Bruce begins, “Tony would like to see you.”

Steve presses his lips together and catches a glimpse of Bucky, riddled with pain and thrown back into the depths of nightmares. Steve knows, he’s been there himself – too many times. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Tony’s doing better, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’d like for you to stop by,” Bruce says.

Steve bows his head, considering, and then blinks too quickly because the prickle of tears born from guilt and shame come unbidden to his eyes. He allows himself a moment to settle before he says, “You know what he is.”

Bruce jerks a bit and Steve swears he sees the shadow of anger so strong it scorches. The good doctor fights it back and says, “I’m aware of Tony’s proclivities.”

Steve laughs, sharp, not welcoming sound. “Then you understand my proclivities as well.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t flinch this time.

“Then you understand why I can’t go any further with this, that what happened here is justice because of what I considered, what I wanted to do-.”

Bruce stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, you don’t get to go there.”

“I think I do, I fought a war to defend what freedom is in this country.”

“And that doesn’t include the freedom to love anyone?”

Steve blushes and he hates it. “No, it’s not natural. It’s deviant and cursed.”

Bruce points to the restless figure in the bed. “He tell you that?”

“No, the nuns did. I know what I am, I know what is wrong with me, that I’m cursed for it-.”

“Do you believe in God, Sheriff,” Bruce asks, the rise of anger lurks in his eyes.

“Yes, of course.” He doesn’t want to go down this path again, not with Bruce.

“And you believe he made you to damn you because of who you chose to love?” 

“That’s the same thing Tony asked, and I’ll tell you that I’m not a man of the cloth, I’m not able to make those decisions.”

“So you would think that God would do that, purposefully and with malice. For what purpose? Why you?”

Steve shrinks back, the fight dissipates out of him. He’s fought it for too long and he doesn’t think, right now, he can. “Doctor, I don’t think we should talk about this anymore.”

Bruce nods and goes to grab his medical bag. He stows his supplies, leaving some out on the bureau for Steve to use. Snapping his bag closed, he picks it up and exits the room again. When he passes Steve in the hallway, he says, “Tony won’t wait forever, he can’t. He doesn’t have the time. Consider that happiness, your happiness, his happiness wouldn’t hurt anyone, Sheriff, before you make your decision.”

Before Steve is able to reply, Bruce heads down the stairs. Steve waits, considering, and weighing what the doctor said. He needs to stop this foolishness. He’s known for a good long time, he cannot have love like others do. 

Clearing his mind, he goes into the bedroom and settles in the single wooden chair. He pulls out a small book and flips it open. Steve is left with his thoughts; a dangerous place to wade these days as he sits with the forgotten book on his lap. He watches as his friend writhes on the cot, tormented by dreams and the agony of pain. His wound isn’t closing properly and, from what Bruce reported, it looks worse by the hour. Steve doesn’t have a choice, they need to get Thor’s brother, Loki, back to town and find out if he can help with his knowledge of medicines, especially since it was probably a concoction of his poisons that did this to Bucky in the first place.

Yet, he cannot leave the town at will – not with Schmidt out there, quiet but threatening every day. He sent word to Falcon and hoped to hell that Sam shows up. He also telegraphed Fury to see if there would be any possible help from the Governor. Pierce isn’t known for his charity, but he did seem suitably impressed with Steve the one time they met before Steve took the position as Sheriff. Steve’s impression of Pierce is anything but good. He was taught to respect authority both by his mother, the nuns, and the military but Pierce refuses to stop Schmidt’s gang; and some have said that the Red Skulls are just part of Pierce’s underground activity, that he wants more power, that his ultimate goal would be to end up as the Governor of the state once the territories are granted statehood or even Senator or President.

Looking to the territorial governor’s house for help isn’t the route to go, Steve needs to sit tight and wait for Sam to show up. He calculated it and it should take Sam a few days, as many as four at the outset to travel up from the Southwest and get to Avenge, though the weather might make it difficult. Once he’s here, Steve plans on saddling Shield and getting out of Avenge, taking to the trail. Right now, he has Thor going over clues from Loki’s belonging (what he left behind) to figure out where he might have been headed.

His biggest fear is that Loki happens to be attracted to power – he might have end up with Schmidt. A headlong crash into Schmidt’s ranch might lead to ruin, and Steve knows it. He’s not going to shy away from danger or fear. Steve would like to keep it free of violence but he doubts that will happen.

Bucky cries out on the cot, and Steve startles out of his thoughts. He jumps up, putting the book aside on the bureau. Dipping a cloth into the cool water in the pitcher, Steve brings it over and lays it on Bucky’s forehead, and tries to soothe him, wash away the burning fever. Bucky opens his eyes with there’s something that eats away at Steve’s heart.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve says and grips his shoulder. It’s the wrong thing to do because Bucky rears up and shoves Steve away. Staggering back, Steve pitches over the wooden chair he’d been sitting vigil on and tumbles to the floor.

Lurching out of the bed, Bucky leaps on him using his knees to pin Steve to the floor. He releases Steve only for a second but then something inside, some horrible nightmare whispers to him and he punches Steve, clocking him right in the chin with enough force to snap his head back. The hysterical look in his friend’s eyes tells Steve that whatever Bucky is seeing isn’t here, isn’t today.

Struggling Steve heaves upward but Bucky hits him again. Steve doesn’t fight back, he doesn’t want to hurt his already injured, delirious friend. He grabs at the hand that’s back at his throat, clawing at Bucky’s iron clad grip. “Bucky?” Steve says and his friend uses his one hand to clutch his throat and squeeze. “Bu-c.”

Grappling, Steve pushes up against Bucky but pulls back on using his strength. Worried about Bucky’s injuries, Steve attempts to throw him off with a sudden jerk and twist of his torso; it doesn’t work.

“Buc-.” Steve manages to spit out as Bucky hunches over him. His eyes are on fire, sweat pours off his face into his long slick hair. With both hands, Steve grabs Bucky’s arm, putting his thumbs near the vulnerable tendons of his wrist, trying to pry him off. “Plea-. Buck-.”

“Bucky.” Another voice says and then a shadow hovers over them. A small yet strong hand on Bucky’s bare shoulder appears. “Bucky.”

He growls in response and only tightens his grip, fingernails gouging into Steve’s throat. Steve’s vision darkens, funnels and he knows he could throw him off, he could do it. But he won’t, he can’t do that to Bucky.

“Bucky, stop,” Natasha says and yanks on him. He spins around, releasing Steve to confront Natasha. She reaches out to him and he snaps at first but then she seizes his arm as if to flip him over her shoulder.

“Natasha, no.”

He scrambles to his feet and catches her before she’s able to complete the maneuver. Sometimes, he thinks that the rumors about her as a Court spy in Russia might be true. With his shoulder he separates them and manhandles Bucky back onto the cot. Luckily, the wrestling drained Bucky of what strength he had and he sinks onto the cot, his face screwed up in pain and his eyes watering from the strain. He’s not crying, but boiling with fever and anger.

“What did you do to me? What did you do?” he mutters and lashes at Steve, though this time it’s weak and pathetic. His eyes close as the pain takes him to unconsciousness again.

Steve grimaces in response and turns to Natasha. Her cheeks are flush, her chemise askew under her bodice. She glares at him and then points to the tray on the bureau. “I brought lunch for him.”

“Thanks, he might settle a bit if you sit with him.” He offers and opens the small clay pot with stew. There’s a plate of freshly baked biscuits, and a cup of warm coffee.

“You know I can’t do that,” Natasha says and faces the window, out toward where Clint might be a rotting corpse. They haven’t heard one word concerning his whereabouts, and Bucky’s been too overcome with fever to answer their questions.

“Tell me you don’t care for Bucky?” Steve says and he realizes his fatigue is getting the best of him, lending him the courage to confront her when he would normally shy away from forcing her hand.

She hides her startle well, but he spots it, fleeting across her expression. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Rogers.”

“How long are you going to deny the truth, Natasha?” It might be the exhaustion that offers him the nerve to try, but the truth is he’s tired of the pussyfooting around, the silly games. He wants someone to be happy, even if he can’t be due to laws and convention.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Rogers.”

“I think you do.”

“What I think, Rogers, is that you should stick to your own business,” Natasha says as she turns his attention to Bucky. “You don’t get to tell me to do something, I can’t do when you won’t even-.”

“Stop, stop-.” Steve puts his hands up as if surrendering to her. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t see why you can’t be with Bucky. You know it’s different than my problem.” He hates calling it a problem, but it is, isn’t it? His deviance.

She snickers. “You still don’t get it, do you?” She shakes her head. “Sometimes the lies that I tell, even I fall for, Rogers. Sometimes, I even believe them.” Her gaze drifts over to Bucky’s and she smiles, softly, sweetly, lightly. 

“What?” He’s not following her, but he feels as if they’ve moved onward to a place he has some understanding of, that her issue is no less problematic than hers. He suspects it is more than Bucky’s arm. “It’s not that he’s a cripple?”

“No,” she says it long and sarcastic – that one note. “Not at all.”

“You love them both.” It isn’t even a question but a statement. The comprehension dawns like drops of rain, pattering down in a shwer both predictable and erratic.

“Took you long enough, Rogers.” She would only say it as she stared at Bucky. “He knows, they both know.”

“And?”

She shrugs. “What’s there to do, make a choice? I’m good at a lot of things, Sheriff. But love isn’t one of them. Love is for children.”

“That’s not a good way to live, Natasha,” he says and keeps his voice low.

She smiles, but there’s no mirth in it. “We both know that, don’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Steve watches the restlessness of his friend. He wonders why Bucky never told him, how Clint never whispered a word. They’re friends, good friends, but in competition for one woman, that could destroy someone, could destroy a lot of people. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” You can’t really chose who you love, he understands that in the hollows of his bones.

She touches his shoulder. “So am I.”

“We’ll find him,” he promises.

“I don’t doubt you will,” she says. “Because life doesn’t hand you a way out, you gotta find it yourself, or you have to dig your way out. What are you going to do, Sheriff?”

Steve shakes his head, not because he doesn’t want to share with her, but because he doesn’t know the answer. 

“Right now, you’re going to leave me with him for a bit. You’ve been here for days. Go, check out the rest of the town,” she says and the meaning underlying, interlacing her words coil in his gut and he has no ability to deny it.

“I need some air,” he says and even to him it sounds weak and trite.

“Take whatever time you need,” she says and she rights the chair and settles down. “Once he wakes up, I’ll get him to eat.”

“If he’s violent-.”

“He won’t be, not with me,” she assures him and, for some reason, Steve believes her.

He finds his way down to the street, roaming a little aimlessly, yet feeling the fool because he wants desperately to check in on Tony. Several of the town’s residents check in and he talks amicably with them. They all inquire after Bucky and he’s comforted that the people of Avenge seem like a good lot – for the most part. 

Aunt May stops him and he walks up to her front stoop. Her little house is near the Backway, where a line of houses near the main street litter the town. She’s been sewing again since she has her quilts all lined up on the front porch. 

“Steven,” she calls and he crosses the street over to her.

“Good morning,” he says.

“More like afternoon,” she teases and she finishes folding a quilt. “I got this for your friend.”

“Bucky?” he asks, they already have one of May’s quilts on the cot up in the little room above the jailhouse. 

“No, the new one, you know, Mister Stark. He’s taken such a shine to Peter. He’s taught the boy so much about mechanics. He’s a real scientist,” Aunt May says but her eyes are like lightning and her meaning sharp.

“Stark’s a good man,” Steve says and he’s not sure who he is trying to convince.

“I just want to make sure our boy isn’t being bamboozled.” 

“I’ll make sure, concerning Mister Stark’s intention for the boy,” Steve says.

She nods and hands over the quilt to him. “You deliver this to him, and tell Peter to come on home. He needs to do some chores, his uncle is under the weather.”

“How is Ben?”

“He’s been better, but that doctor of Mister Stark’s been by to see him. He’s stronger and that’s good.” She pats the quilt. “Now, off with you, I need to finish up my stitching on this other one I’m sewing.”

“Thanks,” he says and tips his hat as he heads toward the Stark residence. He doesn’t even think anything of it until he’s at the door, quilt in hand, and knocking. He hadn’t intended to give in to his whims, but he isn’t, is he? He’s only delivering a quilt and picking up the boy.

The door opens and Pepper greets him. “Sheriff, it’s nice to see you.”

“Miss Potts, I’m here to deliver this quilt from May Parker and pick up Peter?”

Pepper takes the quilt and steps into the vestibule, gesturing for Steve to follow her. He hesitates only a moment, but then steps up and enters the house. He can hear the squeals of laughter from what Steve can only call the hospital room on the first floor of the house. Pepper ushers Steve to the entrance as Jarvis exits. He has a tray of mashed up, discarded food.

“Did he eat?” Pepper asks.

“Only so much as was required for the eating contest with Master Parker,” Jarvis says, the disdain in his voice isn’t quite as convincing as he obviously wants it to be.

“Well, at least he ate something,” Pepper says and waves for Steve to follow him.

Within the room, Peter sits on the floor with a mechanical device that seems to be popping some kind of miniature lightning into a small flat wooden cart with wheels. To Steve’s astonishment the crackles of lightning charge the cart and cause it to move jerkily around the room.

He’s entranced by the little automated cart that’s hooked up to some copper wires to a control in Peter’s hands. The boy sees Steve and jumps up to run to him. “Sheriff, did you see it? Did you see what Tony made?” 

Steve whisks the boy into his arms and smiles. “Yes, it looks dangerous.”

Tony, who’s tucked into the bed with a number of dubious mechanical and other questionable things lying about him, claps his hands. “It’s nothing of the sort, Captain. I have much more dangerous things about.” He snickers and smiles at the same time. It’s disarming.

Steve turns his attention to the boy in his arms. “Your Aunt May is looking for you.”

The boys squirms in Steve’s arms. “Put me down, I’m too big to be carried.”

“You’re only seven,” Steve replies and begins to tickle the boy, who adds more peals of laughter. 

Once he catches his breath again, Peter drops down to the floor, runs over to Tony and says, “I’ll be by in the morning. Can we work in the shop then?”

“If Doctor Bruce says it’s okay.”

Peter shrieks as Steve cringes and then the boy races out of the house, throwing a goodbye to the house residents as he leaves. For a wonderful moment, Steve shares a smile with Tony until he remembers himself, and he straightens his face to neutral.

“Oh don’t do that, Captain.”

Clearing his throat, Steve says, “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”

“If Bruce would only let me out of this bed, and Pepper was such a brute about keeping me here, I could have come and visited you.” Tony smiles rich and devious. “Did you miss me?”

Steve doesn’t know where to look, knows he shouldn’t gaze into Tony’s eyes, that the path to ruin surely starts there. “You should listen to them.”

“Captain?” Tony says and still Steve avoids looking directly at him, instead he focuses on the many wires around Tony. He frowns. “Come on Captain.” This draws him to look at Tony directly. “Ah, there we are. Come.” He reaches his hands to Steve, and there’s nothing for it. He’s drawn in, towed in like a ship to whirlpool, dragged under to the depths below. 

Tony caresses a hand down Steve’s cheek, while he holds the other. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been bus-.”

“Oh I know, I know, you’ve been busy with your friend. I hear things are not going well for him and I am truly sorry about that point,” Tony says, but he never releases Steve, he keeps touching him, petting him. “I also know you’ve been busy beating yourself, allowing that guilt to grow inside.”

“Tony, I-.”

“Don’t say it, Captain,” Tony says and he drops his hand from Steve’s face and a coldness sweeps over him. Tony tugs open the ties of his shirt to reveal a scarred chest and a small metal device over his heart. “We live on borrowed time, Captain, all of us. Why do you insist on cheating yourself out of happiness?”

Steve cannot answer, cannot respond as he studies the device which is larger than a silver dollar but smaller than a cup’s saucer. “What is that?”

“When I was held, abducted, I was wounded, seriously injured. Ended up with heart damage that should have killed me.” He shrugs. “It helps keep me alive. It can be hooked up to a battery, to shock my heart when it decides to die on me.”

“Where did it come from?” Steve’s forgotten his hesitations, his fears, his doubts as he raises his hands and hovers over it. 

Tony clasps his hand over the metal disc. “I put it there, well, technically Bruce implanted it after I invented it.”

“It’s warm,” Steve says and he wants to explore further, he wants to touch flesh against flesh and he swallows down his needs, pushing them further away.

Again, Tony’s hands are on his face, gently stroking him. “No, Captain, don’t do that. Allow it to spread over you.” He wonders if Tony has some kind of ability to read his mind.

Their lips are inches apart, he feels the warmth of Tony’s breath over him, like a cascade of heat and lust and yearning. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me, you won’t hurt me. What are you waiting for?” Tony asks.

And for a single moment, the crucial moment, Steve cannot grasp a viable answer. The need, the urgency is too strong to deny and he falls into the kiss more than anything else. He opens his mouth and welcomes Tony in, and his hands are grasping at Tony’s shoulders, pushing the shirt away and down. He wants this more than he’s willing to consciously admit. Forcing his head with its cluttered thoughts to shut down, Steve only listens to the growing resolve within him, to do this thing, to release himself of his burdens, to follow the path toward damnation.

In the back of his perceptions, he hears a creak like the door’s closing and then the click of the lock being drawn in place. He stumbles to a stop, and Tony searches his face, shakes his head, his lips are bruised and swollen. “No, you don’t.” Tony warns him and drags him closer again. 

Somewhere along the way his hat’s tumbled off and he only pauses for a second to yank off his boots before he climbs into the bed. He tries to be gentle, Tony’s only just recovering, but his brain misfires and he’s clawing at Tony, wanting so much to feel this, to feel something other than worry, pain, concern, shame, and longing. It always wraps up into a numbing ball inside of him causing him to walk around like the dead – wasted and ashen inside.

Tony makes him feel.

Breaking their kiss, Tony notches his head against Steve’s shoulder and pants as his hand drifts downward, tugging and then unbuckling Steve’s belt and pants. “Let me touch you, Captain.”

“I don- I don’t know,” he murmurs and it hurts like a physical wound, stabbed straight to his groin to say it.

“Don’t think about it, it’s not a sin to love,” Tony says and Steve relaxes against him, easing his body so that Tony has access. Suddenly, Steve’s lying against the pillows, the wires and mechanical toys, and other tools have been swept away. Tony’s intent and dark over him like a shadow encompassing him. 

He wonders if he’s been cursed.

“I’m going to touch you, now.”

Steve only nods, knowing it is too late to save his soul. Somehow, Tony gets Steve’s pants off, and then pulls off his own shirt and pants. Tony’s gorgeous. In the small alcove of the room where the bed’s nicely tucked, Tony straddles over Steve and picks up a bottle from the side table. 

“This will make things a little easier.” He dabs some of the yellow oil on his hands and then lightly lines Steve’s cock with his finger. It feels like fire, it feels like ice, it feels like his blood might sizzle and pop out of him. His nerves jump and skip and he’s panting now. 

“Calm, Captain, calm,” Tony says and jerks his fist up on Steve’s erection. He gasps in response and arches a little. “There you go, rock into it.” 

Steve follows Tony’s lead, he doesn’t have any choice and he clears his mind, sinks into the emotions, the heat, and promise of what Tony’s doing to his body. To have another man touch him thrills and scares him. He’s only touched himself, ever. The slightest touch by Tony causes him to groan.

“Now, Captain, feel me,” he says and he lies down on top of Steve, their erections against one another, hard, heavy. The velvet hardness against him is almost too much to bear and he cries out to hold back his climax.

Tony wraps both of their cocks in his hand, stretched out on top of Steve. He whispers in his ear, “You’ve never done this before.”

“N-no,” Steve stutters and moans. He wants Tony to move, not just hold him next to his cock. “No, God, please.”

“Please what, Captain?”

“Please, move, please.”

“You mean like this?” And he strokes them in a firm, strong grasp up and down their cocks. 

“Yes, and yes,” Steve says and the thought occurs to him that Tony’s heart might not be able to take such activities and he almost stops until Tony squeezes him and warns.

“Don’t stop now, Captain,” Tony says. “Or I’ll not -.”

Steve groans and stops him. “Tony, no, please.”

“Please what?”

For one fleeting second, Steve’s clear minded and knows how to strike out and gamble in this game. “Please, touch me. Please, move. Please, sir.”

Tony grunts out something completely unintelligible, but his grip on their cocks tightens and he strokes with a purpose and intent. His eyes never leave Steve’s and he’s hot over Steve like a furnace, like the flames of hell itself and Steve’s doesn’t care. He wants only to feel this, to burn with it and he’s thrusting into Tony’s hand stroke for stroke. Somehow Tony brings his other hand around and cups Steve’s sac and he nearly explodes right then.

They become frantic and crazed in their pursuit. Bucking against Tony, Steve reaches up and pulls him in for a kiss. As their lips meet, Tony freezes and his body jerks and for one horrible moment Steve thinks that Tony’s heart has given out, but the hot flood of semen across his erection clears away the fear and doubt. 

“Ride into Captain, come on, right into it. Let go,” Tony says into his ear.

Steve can’t stop himself, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. The sound of Tony’s voice, soft and insistent causes him to thrust more firmly, holding onto Tony’s shoulders he keeps up the rhythm until he follows Tony, over the edge and the lights go out and the shadows cover him, he’s coming into Tony’s hand, sweating and panting as he does. It feels like a death, it feels like a birth, it feels like he’s broken out and found something new and frightening.

He draws in a breath and Tony pushes his shoulder down onto the bed. “There you go, you’re back.”

“Hmm?” he says and likes the feel of it.

“Nice isn’t it?”

Steve wants to say yes but the utter truth of it still remains. “Nice.” It is all he can manage.

“Don’t go there, Captain. This isn’t something to be sorry about.”

“I shouldn’t be,” he says, but he doesn’t finish. _But I am._

“Tell me this, will you do it again?” Tony says, kissing the nape of Steve’s neck. 

“Yes,” Steve says because he cannot lie, not now, what’s the point?

“Then maybe you’ll understand that love isn’t a sin,” Tony says and kisses the tip of Steve’s nose. 

“Maybe,” Steve says. There’s nothing for it he knows. He’s done for, finished. “I think you might be the devil.”

Tony laughs, full and bright and the light streams into the room all around him at the moment like a burst directly from the sun. “I promise you, Captain, I am anything but the devil.”

“I’m not sure of that,” Steve says and can’t help the smile that plays on his lips. 

“Well then, if I’m here to defile you, I might as well get a good peek at that broad chest of yours,” Tony says and begins to unbutton Steve’s semen stained shirt. He doesn’t fight against it, he allows it, welcomes it.

He wants it.

And when Tony touches him with his mouth, Steve sees the pathway to hell and doesn’t shy away from it. 

CHAPTER 7  
Steve thinks he should be slightly ashamed or, at the very least, he should attempt some decorum. But within the confines of Tony’s household, being who he is, feels natural, and right. No one blinks an eye at him when Tony invites him to sit on the back porch overlooking the vast meadows to the mountainous country beyond the town. 

He’d fallen asleep in Tony’s arms -after. After having Tony touch him, intimately, intensely. He cannot describe how he feels about it because it is primal and raw and no given to words. How can something so physical be transform into the mundane idea of words. He’d slept in Tony’s arms, quietly. The first peaceful slumber he’d had in weeks. Though he denies it, Steve’s fairly certain that Tony stayed awake, brushing his hand through Steve’s hair, holding him close to his damaged heart. When he awoke in the middle of the afternoon, there had been a fresh pitcher and bowl of clean and warm water waiting for them on the sideboard in the room. Tony only shushed his protests and Steve had found himself allowing it, not questioning it. He should be embarrassed and ashamed that someone – most probably Jarvis walked in on them to deliver the pitcher and bowl. He isn’t – this is a haven, a world apart.

As he sits on the chair facing toward the mountain range, Steve watches as Jarvis fusses over Tony. He adjusts the blankets on Tony’s lap, ensuring that the blanket wraps around his shoulders.

“Really, Jarvis, this is a little overboard, don’t you think?”

“A heart attack is nothing to make light of, sir,” Jarvis says. 

“Not a heart attack, just an episode,” Tony interrupts.

Jarvis glowers at him. “I will bring the tea momentarily. Dinner will be served in the dining room within the hour.” He nods once to Steve and then disappears back into the mudroom and through to the kitchen. 

Steve tries not to smile, but it’s hard to suppress it. “He takes care of you like you’re his son.”

“He’s good to me, yes,” Tony says and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Several minutes later, Tony folds the blankets away and reaches for Steve’s hand. He doesn’t say anything when Steve clasps his fingers, feeling his knuckles, rough and callused palm.

“Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you said Jarvis is good to you, where’d you go?” Steve asks, holding on, holding Tony safe.

“He was there for me, when I was younger and my father wasn’t. Doesn’t matter, really,” Tony shrugs. “He stays with me.”

“He accepts you, they all do,” Steve says and finds a comfort in his own words. Here in this sanctuary, he’s found acceptance and belief that he can be happy in his skin. 

Since he was a teenager always sick with one physical malady after another and then he realized his own desires, he’s always felt off, wrong. Even as he grew and put on muscle and strength, it only served to cause him more anxiety, more issues with his body. He’d always felt like he stepped into a pod and some scientists did something to him to remake him, change him, transform him into something _other_. Here with Tony, in his household, he feels a comfort he’s never experienced before, not even with his best friend, Bucky.

“We all have our own devils, Captain,” Tony says and lays back in his chair, his hand slipping from Steve’s. Though Jarvis dotes on him, Tony looks refreshed and healthy as if the attack or sickness that gripped him was only a figment of Steve’s imagination. 

“You feel well now?” Steve asks. Steve’s wearing his dungarees, his shirt, and socks, but he’s left everything else in Tony’s room, as if he lives here. He wonders how it would feel to live under Tony’s roof, to create a life together. 

“I feel spectacular, Captain,” Tony says and claps his hands, then spreads them out as he spans the view behind the house. “Look at this, how gorgeous this is.”

Turning to the mountains, Steve smiles. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s a miracle, isn’t it? If I believed in miracles, I would think I dropped into one when I stepped foot in this dusty town on the middle of nowhere,” Tony says. “Yet, I am a man of science.”

Steve spies him with the corner of his eyes, looking not at the mountains and the beauty of nature, but at Steve. “I think it could be. A miracle, that is.” Steve doesn’t face Tony, only keeps his focus steady on the colors of the mountains as the sun begins to set to the west, behind them. It brings up the red and orange hues dappled through the rugged terrain. 

“It will be, Captain, I assure you,” Tony says but when Steve turns to meet his gaze, he’s scanning the mountainside again. “Now, when do you think you might bring me on those rides to the countryside?”

Steve drops his gaze, feels the warm ball of heat deep inside. He smiles and wishes he could bear better news. “I won’t be able to, I have a commitment to go out and find Loki and Clint, my deputy.”

Tony studies him, and that dark glance pools all his longings and wants down deep in Steve so that he wants to throw away his duties, his responsibilities and stay here. Steve steadies his need, and peers over to the mountains as Tony says, “Maybe you’ll need my assistance.”

It isn’t a question. “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Steve says. “You’re only just recovering yourself.”

“I’ve done worse in much more dire condition, my good Sheriff, I think I can handle a ride out to the open range to find your deputy.”

“It’ll be dangerous and we’ll be riding hard,” Steve says. The thoughts of going on this hunt with Tony doesn’t quell his nerves, but instead sets them on fire and images of Tony kissing his naked flesh superimpose on his sights. “No, that would be distracting,” he adds in a mutter.

Tony laughs, but it’s kind and sweet and loving. “Oh I would hope so, Captain.”

Steve joins him in his laughter. “I don’t think I intended for you to hear that.”

Reaching across the expansion between their chairs again, Tony grasps his hand and tangles his fingers with Steve’s. “Let me come with you.”

Steve bows his head and flashes of memories, seeing Tony on his hands and knees in the room over the jailhouse begging for breath as his heart assaulted him from the inside come to him unbidden. “No, I don’t think that would be wise.”

“You’re going to be like Bruce about this, aren’t you?” Tony says and releases his hand; Steve feels the chill of the late afternoon creep in.

“If being like Bruce means I’m concerned for your welfare, then yes, I would think so,” Steve says and realizes as he states it that he’s more than concerned, he’s worried, a slow churning anxiety has seeded itself inside Steve. It’s like anything these days. He’s afraid of losing what he has ever since his experiences in the war.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll bring Bruce along. He could do with a good ride out to the fresh air. He has a little issue with anger and dealing with it. Did you know that he spent time in India, trying to use their strange ways of meditation to calm his nerves. He brought back many herbs and exotic-.”

“Tony, this isn’t going to convince me that you should be traipsing around with me across the country looking for a wayward brother and my lost deputy. It’ll be a difficult ride.”

Tony straightens in his seat, his arms close to his chest, and he says in a low growl, “I mean to make a life for myself, Captain. I mean to live my life, not rot in a room somewhere. I’ve lost a lot of what was promised to me, but I don’t intend to lose that as well.” He looks over at Steve, his gaze penetrating and slightly menacing. “I thought you would understand the value of living life to its fullest.”

Steve tears away from the intensity of Tony’s expression and he stands up, walking to the rail of the porch and leaning against it, gripping it. “Maybe you and I have a different view on life.”

“I think you’re afraid.”

A bubble of mirth rises up but it’s tainted with a sour after taste. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

He hears a scuffling behind him and finds Tony by his side, his hand at the small of Steve’s back. “Then let me come with you.”

“You might be right, I might be afraid,” Steve says and knows it is the truth. Even Tony’s touch, so light against his back, reminds Steve of what he needs to do, how this little haven will not last. “But I’m not stupid. You’re in no shape to travel; you forget, I saw you. I don’t even know why they let you travel from San Francisco out to here. I mean how did you get from the East, from New York City?”

“I’m afraid that no one can stop, sir, when his mind is made up and he’s determined, Sheriff Rogers,” Jarvis says as brings the tea on a tray. He sets it on the table between the two chairs and then stands to the side, waiting.

Tony huffs out a sigh and drops into the chair. “Fine, I’ll sit quietly and drink my tea. I’m not an old lady you know.” He picks up the teacup and drinks, screwing up face in response to the taste. “God, what is this?”

“A concoction from Doctor Banner. Something he would like you to drink twice a day,” Jarvis says and offers Tony a cookie on a plate. 

“Oh, is this my reward for drinking this swill?” Tony picks up the sugar cookie, thinks about dunking it into the tea, decides against it, and bites the cookie. “Don’t want to poison the cookie.”

Steve smiles and reaches for the teacup, but Jarvis stays his hand. “Sheriff, I’ve brewed some coffee, if you would like?” 

“Yes, that’s awful kind of you,” Steve replies.

“How come he gets cof-.” Jarvis’ stare stops Tony’s protests. “Fine, where is the good doctor, out foraging for more roots and bark to treat me with?”

“Doctor Banner went to see Deputy Barnes some time ago,” Jarvis says. “I’ll get your coffee now. Dinner is almost ready.” He exits into the mudroom but Steve ignores him.

He pushes a hand through his hair and feels the tight grip on his chest, not unlike the feeling of his asthma attacks. Guilt, plain and simple grips him, constricting and squeezing the air out of his lungs. “Damn it.”

“Bruce is with him. Even with the strange teas, Bruce is still a very good doctor,” Tony says.

Steve presses his lips together, biting back a response that would only serve to depreciate himself. 

“Truly, he was the top of his class,” Tony says.

“And he travels with you?” Steve asks.

“You forget, I’m valuable commodity. I’m a rich man and many want to be in my presence, not all of them for the right reasons, Captain. Plus, he’s my kind of doctor. He was kicked out of high society,” Tony says with a shrug. “Seems he has a bit of a temper and it didn’t go well with his intended’s father – some colonel. Tore up a whole army base or some shit. He would have ended up at the short end of a hangman’s rope if it wasn’t for Betsy – his intended- stepping in.”

“What? And he’s with Bucky?”

Tony waves him to sit back down after he jumps from his chair. “It’s fine. He hasn’t had an episode in months.”

“Oh, that reassures me,” Steve murmurs but does collapse into the chair. He shouldn’t, he needs to go and check on Bucky – he’s been at Stark’s residence all day. He loathes to leave, because he knows once he steps out of the threshold, he’ll have to face what he’s done and himself.

“Listen, my Captain,” Tony says and Steve should complain – should tell Tony to stop calling him Captain. But the word rolls off of Tony’s tongue, so naturally, that when Tony uses it, it feels right. It feels like things will work out and that the title has become his name in some obtuse and confusing way. “Listen, we’ll all a bunch of misfits. I’m dying, and I like my love with a little muscle, Bruce is a doctor with rage in his heart, you’re a war hero who also seems to like it on the muscular side. We’ve found a place here, a different place. I think that’s why I’m out here in the West. That’s why Stark Industries didn’t have a problem letting me leave. You can’t imagine the way the investors look at someone like me.”

“I think I can, but I think a lot of people come out here for the opportunity,” Steve says.

“The opportunity to live freely. It’s a sad state of affairs when a nation built on the idea of individual’s freedom doesn’t actually live up to its perfect union idea.”

“I’m not sure the founding fathers were talking about me when they said all men were created equal.” 

“More so than the Negro or the Indian. You tell me, what makes someone equal, cowboy?”

Steve grimaces and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“That shouldn’t be your answer,” Tony says, putting the teacup on the table and leaning forward. “How is it, if I went back to New York City, I would be welcome in the finest houses and entertained by the politico while you-.”

“I’d be back in the slums,” Steve finishes. “Yeah, I get you, the West kind of evens that all out.”

“In some ways, there are some people who brought that hierarchy out here,” Tony says. “Like your territorial governor. Sure, he has someone like Fury as his assistant, but that’s all for show. You think he listens to a word Fury says? A former slave? I don’t think so. Before you know it, Captain, this entire safe haven of yours is going to transform into the world you left behind.”

“That’s probably true.”

“It isn’t probably, it is true.” And now, Tony turns strident, passionate, and keenly pointed and focused as if he has a mission, when he continues. “I intend to make this my home, Captain. I’ve been looking for some place I could spend what days I have left, free from society’s expectations. My business be damned. I have the money still, and the reputation. I don’t care, I want to leave it all behind and find peace here.”

“You sound both pessimistic and idealistic at the same time.”

“Call it pragmatic. I see the reality of the situation. Tell me you don’t know half the stories of the people of this town, looking for some kind of redemption or hide-out, or a way to start fresh?”

“You’re not wrong,” Steve says with a smile. Tony hasn’t been here a month and already he’s read the entire town. From Darcy and her flagrant disregard for dress conventions to Natasha in love with two men, to Erik lost in a world all his own, and then there’s Clint and Bucky – who the world would label as cripples. “I’ll give you that.”

“So, when you go out after Clint, I want to ride by your side,” Tony says.

“I don’t follow-.”

Jarvis appears at the doorway. 

“Dinner already, J?”

“No, sir, I have a special message from Doctor Banner,” Jarvis says.

Steve perks up and gets to his feet. “Bucky? Is he-?”

“He seems to be lucid at the moment, and asking for you. He has some information on your Deputy.”

“Clint?” Steve shares a look with Tony. “I have to-.”

“Go, I’ll be there once I dress. Go, go,” Tony says and gestures for him to leave.

Steve hesitates only for a fraction of a minute, but it’s enough to telegraph his indecision to Tony and Jarvis. The servant only clears his throat and steps back into the house. Tony grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him in for a lingering, drawn out kiss that Steve doesn’t have time for but wants, and sinks in to nonetheless. He welcomes Tony and braces his hand against his shoulder, holding on as if Tony is quickly becoming his anchor, keeping him moored and tethered to hope. 

When they break apart, Tony says, “Go, now, I’ll be there-.”

“You don’t have to, you’re still-.” Steve is surprised to realize he’s panting. 

“I’m fine, I’ll be there,” Tony says and touches his fingertips to Steve’s lips. “Go.”

Steve listens. Jarvis is suddenly there, handing him his boots, his coat, his hat. He dons them, thanks Jarvis, and then races through the house, only half noticing that Miss Potts is sitting in the parlor at the desk with an inkwell and pen in hand. He mumbles an apology as he passes her and rushes out of the door. He hurries across the small town to the jailhouse and takes the steps two at a time, not caring about the rickety shape they are in. 

He’s at the door to the room before he knows what to say. As he enters, the doctor moves away from the single cot to reveal Bucky, sitting up, fevered and drained.

“Buck,” Steve says and goes to his side. He squeezes his shoulder and sees a fogged, nearly dazed look haunts his expression, his eyes. “Hey, you gotta rest.”

Bucky licks his lips and shakes his head back and forth as he reclines against the wall, the thin pillow not enough to cushion him. “No, I have to, have to.”

“You need rest,” Bruce says and goes to the bureau to pour a cup of water. 

“Good to have you back with the living, Bucky,” Steve says and hates the exhaustion taxing his friend. “We thought we lost you there for a while.” Turning to Bruce for only a second. “It’s a good sign.”

The doctor cringes at his optimism. “Here,” Bruce says, and hands him the cup of water. 

Steve eases onto the edge of the cot and helps Bucky drink the water. His skin is hot to the touch and he looks like someone beat him in a back alley. Bucky accepts the water, but only sips and then refuses the rest.

“Bucky, you need-.”

“No, don’t.” He collapses back against the wall, his shoulders shivering in the cool late afternoon air. Steve adjusts the blanket, and wishes he had something else to offer. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Steve says, but he’s lying and he’s never been a good liar.

Bucky calls him on it. “Damn, Rogers, stop trying. It’s pathetic to watch you try and lie, you know?” He smiles but it’s halfhearted and aching. “You need to listen to me, now.”

Steve waits, and nods. He only wants what’s best for Bucky. “What is it?”

“Red Skull gang,” Bucky says and he heaves in a long breath as if trying to clear his head. He pays for it, and groans against the pain.

“Hey, hey, we don’t have to-.”

“Yeah, yeah, we do,” Bucky says and rocks slightly in his seat. “I’m gonna do this, for Clint.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He brings the water back to Bucky’s lips, who only tastes it but doesn’t truly drink any of it. 

Bucky pushes Steve’s hand away, and says, “Followed the trail until we hit, Schmidt’s range.”

“You got pretty far then, Schmidt’s a half day’s ride away at least,” Steve replies.

“Red Skull gang is policing farther out, I guess. They came at us, wasn’t pretty.” He holds back for a moment as the pain cycles through him. Steve grips his hand, wanting to tell him not to try, but knowing Bucky would be insulted; he stays quiet. “I got away, but just barely, Clint knew I was hurt. He went and gave himself up, saying he wanted to turncoat.”

“He didn’t,” Steve says.

“Yeah, he did. He’d gone and saved my ass is what he did. Idiot, told them he wanted to give them some information on you, and the town. Would be-.” He hisses against the pain. “Would be valuable.”

“But Clint was all right?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, yeah, they only got me with their damned poisoned knife. Tell Thor, I’m gonna kill his brother,” Bucky says and he’s losing his battle to stay awake. 

“Loki was there?”

“No, no,” Bucky says rolling his head against the wood of the wall. “No, just something - one of the gang said. Something-.” He blinks and pants. “I can’t, I can’t recall. Must have been-.” He fights to find coherency. “Said something about the boss, bringing him like they brought the snake oil salesman. Think it was Loki, don’t know.” He moans under his breath as if he’s too brave or too stupid in front of Steve.

“It’s okay, Bucky, you can rest,” Steve reassures him and he hears movement behind him and peers over his shoulder to find Tony standing in the doorway. It centers him and he rests his hand on Bucky. “It’s okay.”

Bucky peels open his eyes, grimaces, before saying, “No, Clint went with them-.” His words are halting and laced with pain. “You have to get him. He went with the Skull gang, joined up because of me.”

“He’ll be fine, you know Clint. He can handle himself,” Steve says but then Bruce steps in and offers a small shot glass filled with an amber liquid to Steve.

“For the pain,” Bruce says.

“Buck, Buck,” Steve says.

Bucky lolls back onto the thin pillow, slumping back onto the cot. 

“You need to sit up and take this,” Steve says, reaching to tilt Bucky’s head so that he can manage to down the medicine. 

“Bet you love this,” Bucky replies and closes his eyes, his brow furrowed and speckled with perspiration. 

“Don’t see how,” Steve says as he carefully positions the cup at Bucky’s mouth while holding his head in place. Bucky sips the liquid and cringes.

“Get to give me all the foul tasting medicines,” Bucky says with a roll to his eyes. “Getting back at me.” He doesn’t protest further as he finishes up the liquid drug and Steve eases him down onto the pillow.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve says. 

Buck only smiles, it’s weak and broken and reminds Steve of when he’d rescued Bucky – half out of his mind with pain from the torture some lunatic holed up in the middle of nowhere inflicted on him. “Be all right, you’ll see. Better than you.” His gaze drifts and his sights fall on Stark. A sadness comes over him. “Don’t get yourself in trouble, Stevie. When I go, don’t get yourself in trouble.”

“I’m not, you just rest, sleep, Buck.” Steve pushes his hair from his forehead. “Besides, you ain’t going nowhere._

“Can’t, someone’s gotta look out for you,” Buck replies and he stares at Tony. “He’s gonna hurt you, Stevie. Don’t go getting hurt over it. Don’t do that, Stevie.”

“I’m not,” Steve promises, lying, and Buck closes his eyes and stills. Steve queries Bruce and the doctor only hushes him.

“His condition is very serious, Sheriff, I’m not sure there’s much more I can do.” 

Steve stands up to allow the doctor access to Bucky. “You still think we could do something if we had Loki here?”

“If they’re using Loki’s concoctions, it would help. At least I’d have more of a clue as to what was mixed with the poison to give it its staying power,” Bruce says. “Whatever they poisoned the knife with on top of the ergot – well, the body can’t clear it out, can’t flush it away.”

“Going onto Schmidt’s range -which pretty much nearly encircles the town- is dangerous. He’s got his gang patrolling all the time. Getting close is near to impossible.” Steve stands up and sighs, feeling as if he’s losing part of himself with Bucky.

“Not impossible, if you get an invitation,” Tony says.

Steve glances at him and frowns. “I doubt that the head of the Red Skull gang is going to invite me to a dinner party, Tony.”

“No, but he would invite the head of Stark Industries.”

“I don’t think-.”

Tony raises his hand to halt his objection. “It’s easy enough to do. You don’t know how high society works, Captain. This Schmidt, like every other imbecile in high society, thrives on their connections.” He puts his shoulder against the door frame, all ease and grace and no one would guess he nearly died in this room. “Schmidt wants to make the headlines, he wants Pierce to know he’s someone to be reckoned with. Easy enough to get myself an invite and I’ll bring my party along which will include you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Steve says and looks everywhere but at Tony.

“It’s your only option. You want to find out what happened to your other Deputy, find your friendly slightly deranged – from what I hear – snake oil salesman, and get this miracle cure for your friend, you can do one of two things. Walk up to his front door and demand it – from what I understand that will require a large amount of bullets and blood, or you can get invited in,” Tony smiles. “Your choice.”

“Why do I get the feeling that Thor’s brother isn’t the only flimflam man around here?” Steve asks.

Tony joins him in the room, clasps his hand, and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “Why, Captain, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I’m going to regret this,” Steve mutters and Tony only winks at him.

CHAPTER 8

It takes some doing. Tony sends a letter of introduction to Schmidt's ranch, something that Steve couldn't conceive of, even though Tony told him that it would be disrespectful for Schmidt not to entertain one of the wealthiest men in America at his home - regardless of what he thought of Tony's lifestyle. Once Schmidt receives the letter, delivered by express post from Doom's office, he immediately replies that he would be greatly pleased to invite Tony and his party to the ranch for an extended stay. Tony only smiles and raises his eyebrow when he sees the invitation, and kisses Steve on the cheek while he takes his afternoon rest on the back porch. Tony winks and immediately swings into action. Of course, Steve would be one of his entourage.

Steve cannot refuse, he needs to find Clint but he worries about Bucky. He needs to get on that ranch and find Loki as well- the faster the better. Bucky has been deteriorating at an alarming rate. He barely reaches coherency and lays in a delirium that the doctor cannot alleviate or explain. Natasha, Bruce, and Steve take turns sitting with him, though sometimes Steve has to call in Thor to help out simply because even in his ill state Bucky can be a formidable foe. Luckily, on the third day after Steve sends the telegram to Falcon, Sam Wilson shows up and Steve feels as if a cloud has lifted from his shoulders, and the way ahead clears of fog.

Sam brought light to his darkest days. It had been Sam who had led Steve out of the shadow of the prison camp. Mentally, Steve had been in a particularly bad place, they called it spells. He'd fall into long stupors of memories, like terrors that plagued him and the sorrow of the nights and days spent at the prison camp during the war overwhelmed him. Sometimes, even the days before the prison camp plagued him. How his small troop of soldiers, the Howling Commandoes, assisted the 16th regiment in their attack on Antietam – the most horrific day of his life. He could still smell the blood and septic stench of wounds. Those days came back to him as did the months in the prison. The doctors had wanted to diagnose him with acute mania or irregularities of his mental processes. They’d wanted to commit him to a hospital for the insane in New York City, but the military brass held back. How could they put him away when he’d been a decorated, celebrated war hero? 

Somehow he'd found himself in Sam's care. A former slave, but then a soldier in the union army, Sam looked after him when he’d been assigned by the higher Command. Sam spent hours at first with him, trying to coax him out of his pain and nightmares. Steve had thought for sure that his life would remain bleak and colored only in the horrors of his nightmare and memories. But Sam had been there for him, talking him through nights, and keeping him company when he couldn't tolerate any other human being around him. Sam had been there. Through days and then weeks, he'd rehabilitated Steve and saved him in so many ways. When the doctors gave him opium to quiet his mind and Steve found he couldn’t live a day without it. It had been Sam who found a way to help Steve through the delirium of withdrawing from the drug. He’d held Steve’s head and helped him vomit into a bucket, worked him through the worst of the manic and depressive phases. Sam saved him in mind and body. It was the least Steve could do to save Sam in return.

After the war had ended, and the good will toward former slaves in the North evaporated there had only been one recourse for someone as educated and empathetic as Sam, and that had been to find a new beginning. Steve had helped him find a position in a small town of Falcon with many other former slaves and he went with Steve's blessing and hopes. Sam had been reluctant to leave Steve, worrying about his state of mind, his tendencies to lapse into maudlin thinking, but Steve had convinced him otherwise. He worried that Steve would fall back into using the opium to wipe away the pain, but Steve hadn’t. He’d made a promise to Sam. Plus he had Bucky to take his mind off his own worries. They'd found Bucky by then and saved him. It was Steve's turn to focus on helping Bucky survive the gripping nightmares of his time under Zola's hand.

Zola had been a rouge agent during the war. Some lunatic from the old world settled into the bogs and bayous of the Mississippi, terrorizing the local population and others in the surrounding area. He liked to do what he called scientific experimentation. When he'd ventured further North and Bucky fell into his hands, he'd spent the better part of his time torturing Bucky for the Southern cause but under no one's true command. The Southern Generals didn't even know about Zola, he had been a loose cannon, operating independently.

Or so Steve thought – he had his theories about Zola and his possible collaborators. Steve often thought that Schmidt’s hatred of Steve and Bucky might have something to do with the war, though he could never pinpoint it.

When Sam arrives, Steve only has a short time to discussion the situation with him and to find out how his life has changed. With a slap on the back and a smile, Steve leads Sam into his office. 

“I’m sorry I have to leave you right off,” Steve says and pours his guest some coffee. “You still like it strong then?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

Steve hands the tin cup to Sam and his friend winks at him. “I see your living the high life.”

“Don’t go at me, Sam. This is a good town.”

“Except for your recent infestation.” Sam says as he sidles onto and balances on the window’s ledge. “Everyone knows about the Red Skull gang. Lots of people down south are saying that Pierce and Schmidt are a pair to be reckoned with. They want the whole territory, my people in Falcon are worried.”

“Not sure about Pierce, whether the Governor is or isn’t with Schmidt,” Steve says. “All I know is that Schmidt’s running a gang that’s got just about the whole town of Avenge terrorized and I can’t get any help from Pierce or Fury.”

Sam raises his eyebrow at that statement. “I’m surprised, Fury can be a hard one to deal with, but he sees the reality-.”

“Maybe, but we can’t go tiptoeing around the truth. He’s a former slave and Pierce has got him up there in the Governor’s mansion with him so that it looks good to Washington, we all know that, Sam.”

“Fury’s not a fool.”

“No, he isn’t, he might have his own game going on, but we can’t wait on something we can’t trust.”

Sam shakes his head and sips the coffee. He blanches and places the mug on the desk. “That is vile, my friend, you need to learn how to brew coffee. But what’s worse is what’s going on here. You need more help than I can give you.”

“What I need you to do is to look after the fine people of this town, while I go to see Schmidt.”

“That recluse, I thought he only invited people of a certain class to come calling.”

“I know someone,” Steve says. “And my coffee’s fine.”

“If you need to get some horseshit off your boots,” Sam says with a chuckle. But he goes serious again when he says, “Schmidt wants this whole area under his control. Pierce is willing to give it to him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can while you’re gone.” He stands up. 

“Glad you came today, Tony and I are set to leave for the Schmidt Ranch tomorrow morning.”

“Tony?” Sam asks.

“You’ll met him,” Steve says and he leads him out of the office into the street. It’s coming into late October and the wind is strong and harsh. Going to the ranch will be treacherous and questionable. Travel across the plains and through the mountains is avoided at all costs as the weather turns. Luckily, the weather has held and they’ll be able to get to Schmidt’s ranch house without an issue, coming back might be another story.

They end up at the Parlor Inn with Darcy serving the coffee that appeals to Sam more than the brew Steve offered him.

“It’s pig’s swill,” Sam says and Darcy smirks.

“He reuses the grinds. He’s uncultured,” Darcy says and pats Sam on the shoulder. “What will you have to eat?”

“Be nice to get some of the chili, Darcy,” Steve says.

“Didn’t think you were staying, thought you’d be over at Stark’s again tonight.” Darcy says and then turns to Sam. “You want the chili or the steak. I got some flank that’s been marinating for the last few days.”

“Sounds good, thanks,” Sam says and smiles as she walks away. “Seems like a nice town.”

“Everyone here’s kind of a reject even the guy who runs the Telegraph and Mail office.”

“And this Stark person you seem to be spending time with?” Sam asks and while his tone is light, his expression stays wary.

“Tony Stark, you’ve heard of him,” Steve says and tries not to meet Sam’s eyes. If he does, he might give himself away.

“Hasn’t everyone?” Sam says and taps the table to get Steve’s attention. “Listen, I know you, I understand what you’ve been through. But you have to be careful of men like Tony Stark. He grew up different from, well, you.”

Steve nods. He grew up in the poor section of New York City. He’s lucky his mother forced him to learn how to read and do basic math. He won’t be ashamed of his upbringing though. “I’m not ashamed of where I come from.”

“I know that,” Sam says with a shrug. “Look at me, a former slave. You think I’m ashamed to say I fought for my freedom?”

“No,” Steve says and sighs. “Tony’s a good man.”

Sam watches him, scrutinizes his answers. “Be careful, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t answer. They eat and listen to the music when Natasha decides to play the piano. It’s tinny and needs to be tuned, but the night is fun and the beer is plentiful. For once he forgets about his troubles and lets the warm wash of people smiling flood over him. Sam seems to fit in well, and that’s a relief. He worried about how the town might not accept a former slave to fill in for him while he’s gone. 

He gets a room for Sam at the Parlor Inn, and no one complains. This is why he loves this little town on the brink of nowhere USA. When he leaves Sam to take his rest, his old friend brings him away from the commotion of the rowdy crowd.

“How have you been doing?”

“Sam, you’re not my nurse. I’m good.”

“I’m not allowed to be concerned?” 

Steve smiles. “No one’s going to declare that I’m weak of mind or got any kind of Suicidal Melancholia.”

“And this Stark? Why’s he sniffing around you?” Sam asks and Steve almost explodes with laughter at the term.

He barely contains it, but says, “He’s a good friend.”

Sam looks him up and down and releases his arm. “Take care of yourself, Steve.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve says and tilts his hat before he departs. 

He cannot help the draw that Tony has over him. He drifts down the street toward Tony’s residence. He knows that Bucky is well taken care of since Bruce promised to watch over him tonight. He only has to rap on the door once and Jarvis opens it and welcomes him in.

“Sir is in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

He removes his hat and duster and hands them to Jarvis, who smiles and leads him into the parlor. The room is cozy and well appointed with a thick rug on the floor, chairs by the fireplace, and small table near the chairs. There’s a writing desk set by the window with a glass lamp on it. Tony is there, in a smoking jacket and dark silk pants, sitting in one of the cushioned chairs at the fireplace. He smiles when Steve arrives. “I missed you today” He stands and looks healthier, stronger than he has in the recent days.

“I missed you as well,” Steve says and wishes he kept his hat. At least then he’d have something to do with his hands. Tony still drives him off center.

“Peter came over today,” Tony says and gestures for Steve to take the chair next to his at the fire. “I taught him about batteries. He’s a smart one.” They both settle into their separate chairs. 

“Yes,” Steve says and Jarvis reappears with a tray of port. He sets it on the carved table, pours the wine into small wine glasses, and then disappears. “Where’s Miss Potts?”

“Out and about,” Tony says. “Not sure what she’s up to today. She spent all of yesterday getting the travel arrangements set.”

“So, you’re ready to go?” He doesn’t like the idea of Tony coming with him, but he truly has no other choice. It is, after all, an invitation for Tony to visit with Schmidt. 

“Pepper has everything together and arranged.” Tony smiles. “Just you and me on the open range.”

“Tony, this isn’t going to be romantic. We’re going into the mouth of the devil.”

“You’re being so dramatic, Sheriff.” Tony says and picks up his glass. “Drink your port and then come to bed with me.”

“I really should go and get ready to leave. We have to get moving early tomorrow.” Steve climbs to his feet but he doesn’t truly want to leave. He would like to stay, would like to touch Tony again.

“Sheriff,” Tony says and stands as well. He fits so comfortably up against Steve. It feels so natural and right. He closes in on Steve, their breath mingles. Looking up into Steve’s eyes, Tony searches for something.

“What?”

“I think I might be falling for you, Sheriff, I hate to say it.”

Steve only wants to repeat the same words back to Tony, but instead, he grasps the smaller man’s shoulders. He wants to touch, anything even a chaste interaction. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not for me,” Tony says and he leaves the rest unsaid. “Come to bed with me, Sheriff, let me touch you again.” His hand slips downward and Steve wavers in his resolve as Tony caresses him. “Just stay with me.” 

“Okay,” Steve mumbles and cannot help it that he’s hauled to Tony’s bedroom again, that his clothes come off far too easily, that he’s on his knees, between Tony’s legs, mouthing his cock. 

As he sits on the edge of the chair, Tony cards his hands through Steve’s hair, his head thrown back and his moans set Steve on fire. He strokes his own cock as he works his mouth along Tony’s erection, licking and tasting. Tony is splayed out before him. His silk pants puddled on the floor, he has his smoking jacket open, and his chest heaves. Tony shudders as Steve slips a finger back and edges along his cleft.

“Good God, man,” Tony says and seizes Steve up from his ministrations. He pummels Steve’s mouth and then Steve shares the pre-come taste with Tony. “We need the oil.”

Steve kisses and nibbles as he finds his way back to Tony’s chest, to his nipples. He lingers over the metal plate, where Tony’s weak heart is protected. He drags his tongue along it and then goes downward again.

“God, Sheriff, I said-.” He howls as Steve downs his entire length, suckling. He’s hungry for it, he laps and rings his tongue along the underneath until Tony’s gripping the arms of the chair he’s sitting in. He jerks up into Steve’s mouth. Encouraging, Steve pushes his hands under Tony to support him, allowing him to thrust into Steve’s mouth with abandon. 

“I can’t,” Tony groans and rakes his hands through Steve’s hair again, tugging at the strands. “I can’t hold on.” 

Steve falls back on his haunches and Tony follows him, standing up and fucking into his mouth. It’s raw and brutal and everything that Steve wants because it rips away the fragility of their situation, of hiding and keeping quiet about it. It blasts away his walls, his fears and he urges Tony, gripping his ass and opening his throat. The head of Tony’s cock slams against the back of Steve’s throat and he shudders with the need, the desire. He clutches onto Tony, enjoying the freedom, the bliss of being in love and he realizes he is in love and he wants to spend every moment with Tony. Always.

Tony warns him and tries to pull away, but Steve holds firm and then he’s drinking down the bitter taste of Tony. Swallowing and sucking at the same time so that Tony quakes against him. 

“Damn it, Sheriff, you are going to be the death of me,” Tony pants as he comes down from the high of climax.

Peering up as he releases Tony, Steve sees the glistening of sweat, the red blush over Tony’s chest and face. His hair is wild and for one moment Tony transcends all rational thought in Steve’s brain. He looks magnificent. Steve smiles and feels heavy, needy.

“Oh, dear Sheriff, I think we have some work we left unfinished,” Tony says and sinks down on his knees in front of Steve. 

Steve is achingly hard and he falls into Tony, leaning against him as Tony trails fingers along his erection. He whines and shivers as Tony begins to smear the dribbles of pre-come along his cock. 

“Take yourself in your hand,” Tony says and it’s only the softest of whispers.

Steve follows the command and jerks because he wants to spill almost immediately. 

“Stand up,” Tony says.

Using Tony’s shoulder as a brace, Steve forces himself to his feet. His legs feel strangely absent as all of his nerves pulse at his groin. 

“Stroke yourself, good Sheriff,” Tony says.

For a moment, Steve’s confused, because he’d thought Tony had planned to reciprocate but now he’s eyeing Steve with an intensity that burns through him, sets the throbbing of his blood to a new pitch. The heat of the room, of his blood melts all other thought.

He strokes his cock without finesse. He’s fierce and hard and he wants to find relief. But Tony’s watching him, and he’s never done this so blatantly, so wantonly in front of someone. He closes his eyes as the embarrassment flushes over him, but he wants it so much he cannot stop.

“Open your eyes, and look at me,” Tony says in a low growl.

With one hand on Tony’s shoulder, Steve obeys and meets Tony’s gaze. It is unflinching, open and without fear. There’s no self-consciousness. He’s intent on what Steve is doing, he’s hot and salivating as Steve jerks into his fist. 

For a moment, Steve pauses as if the thought of how it is depraved, this act, might stop him. But he shuns it, how can this be depraved and immoral when Tony loves him? When it is an act of love, it is not wrong. It sets him free, allows him to pound into his hand with a frantic speed. He’s grunting as he does, loud and hoarse.

Tony holds his ass. “Come on, Sheriff, do it, Sheriff. All over my face, all over-.”

The words clench tight in Steve’s groin and he growls out his release as he shoots over Tony’s face hitting him on the cheeks, in his open mouth, dripping down his tongue. He feels animalistic but free as he milks himself dry, hitting Tony’s eyes and hair. 

When he finishes, he’s legs give out and he topples downward, Tony guiding him to his knees and they collapse into one another. He quakes through the after effects, never knowing that touching himself could cause his insides to turn over and contort into knots. He gulps in breath as Tony pets his hair. 

“There you go, Sheriff, quiet,” Tony says and then Steve realizes he’s slowly wiping the come from his face and licking it off his fingers. 

Steve lifts his head from Tony’s shoulder and says, “I think I’m falling for you, Mister Stark.”

“Would that be such a bad thing, Sheriff?”

“Only time will tell,” Steve says and sets about kissing and touching Tony with his new freedom. 

CHAPTER 9  
Their luck does not hold. 

When Tony and Steve depart from Avenge, the sun is still low in the sky. The clouds are a fierce gray with an underlying violet that speaks towards winter storms. Steve very nearly calls off the journey, concerned for Tony’s health, but then he remembers Bucky writhing on his cot above the jailhouse and knows he has no other choice. The poison has gone deep and, he fears, without the intervention of Loki and his potions, Bucky will be lost to him forever. He cannot fail Bucky again.

Sam looks at him with a wary eye, but Steve only tips his hat, thanks Sam for the cover, and leaves. Their two horses trot along with a pack horse to bring extra _equipment_ Tony insisted on. Steve doesn’t see it as harmful, just problematic if the storms grow when he need to cross the river; the pack animal might have a time of it making the journey. 

As they put distance between the horses and the town, Steve scans the horizon, the Rocky Mountains ragged and potent. They won’t be venturing too close, but along the foothills, the mountains make their presence know. The winters can be powerful and unforgiving. Steve glances at Tony and frowns. 

“Captain, you are none too happy this beautiful morning,” Tony says and gestures toward the quiet landscape before them. 

“I told you I’m no longer a Captain, it’s Sheriff, now.”

“Well, then, Sheriff, you are none too happy this beautiful morning.” 

The land around them is settling in for a long winter’s slumber. Except for the sturdy pines, the trees are bare like gnarled bones reaching up to the steel gray sky. Steve doesn’t pay much mind to the landscape, instead he steadies an eye on Tony. The man is bundled up, he sees Pepper’s touch and he smiles. At the very least, Tony must have acquiesced to it in order to convince the woman to let him go on this journey.

“The sky’s my worry,” Steve says and nods to the darker clouds toward the far west where they are headed. “I’m hoping we make it across the river toward the ranch before we have to set down for the night.”

“Could take us more than a day?”

“Sometimes,” Steve says. He doesn’t mentioned that if he had been traveling alone, he would have done the trek in one go, not stopping for anything but his bladder and a chew on some jerky. His horse, Shield, is a good one and has a balance that allows Steve to push the animal farther than others would manage. “We should get there by tomorrow evening, if we push it.”

Tony screws up his face. “You’re being soft. We could get there earlier.”

Steve yanks a bit on the reins to stop Shield from chewing on the grasses. The damned horse can sometimes spend the whole ride nipping for a snack. 

Without looking at Tony, Steve tugs his horse toward the range. The trees are empty sentinels and Steve still hates the idea of traveling this late in the season. But if his luck holds out and they can cross the river without incident, then he can get them to Schmidt’s ranch. Schmidt will be fit to be tied when he sees that Tony brought Steve along – but there will be nothing for it. He’ll allow Steve on his ranch, if only to share bedding down in the cowpunchers’ house while Tony is entertained at the main house. Tony sidles his horse up to Steve’s a brilliant smirk on his face 

“Are you going to be grouchy all the way there, Sheriff. We could take a break, I could get on my knees and do something about your mood,” Tony says and smiles. 

It's audacious. Steve has a feeling that Tony lives by a creed of audacity, stupidity, and a little bit of pluck. He cannot believe how such an intelligent man can be so confounding. “There’ll be none of that on this trip. We can't risk it.” He doesn’t confess that he believes Schmidt won’t allow him in the main house at all. 

Tony chuckles and braces a hand on the rump of his horse, scanning the lost horizon of Avenge. “There's no one out here, Sheriff. I would like it if you did let me get to my knees-.”

Steve whips around and snaps, “None of that on this trip. We’re not out here for your fancy. We’re trying to save my friend, my-.”

Tony shrinks back, his horse follows by shuffling away a few steps from Shield. “I know your friend is important to you,” Tony says after a time. 

Glancing back over his shoulder, Steve can no longer make out the silhouettes of the town along the lonely plains of the eastern side of the foothills. The sagebrush and leafless trees stand in his way. He clears his throat and replies, “You are important as well, Tony. But I don't want Schmidt to get the upper hand. Even something as small as a wayward look could be misinterpreted.”

Tony scoffs. “You are far too cautious my friend. We are out in the wilderness.” Tony gestures with one hand while clutching onto the horn of the saddle’s pummel with the other. 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You are not horse man, are you?”

“I prefer my transportation without a mind of its own.”

“Locomotives cannot get you everywhere, Mister Stark.” He gives a sidelong glance to Tony and notices a fine high blush to his cheeks. Steve secretes it away that Tony likes to be spoken to formally. He already knows that Tony is amused by his usage of _sir_.

Once again, Tony waves him off. “Locomotives will be things of the past. The future lies in privatization of transportation. Look at this fine country, the long pastures and fields. We cannot crisis cross it with the iron monster, the train. No, it will be something greater, more versatile.”

“Oh you mean that lark, the iron man machine?”

Tony bristles and glares at him. “That, my dear Sheriff, is not a lark. It works very well.”

“So it is real? I will believe it when I see it,” Steve says and then clicks at Shield to stop her from munching as they trot along the rocky plain. “But tell me about this new invention? This personal locomotive?”

“Oh not mine, not yet. There are others out there. Looking to replace your mighty steed.”

“We've only just crossed the nation with the locomotive. I doubt you see the future.”

“Then you bet against reason and American ingenuity.”

Their banter keeps up for the better part of the morning until they drop off into a quiet and peaceful companionship. Every now and again Steve studies Tony when he's not aware, when his eyes seem focused inward rather than on the lengthening landscape before them. Marked on his face, Steve notices a clear and critical expression. He may spend much of his time acting as a casual flippant observer of the human condition, but Steve doubts the actuality of it. He doesn't say anything, only keeps his eye on Stark as they ride toward the lower plateau and the river below it. 

By the time the sun has inched its way toward a low mid-sky zenith of autumn, Steve calls a halt. Though Tony tries to protest, Steve shrugs him off. “The horses need a drink, and I'd like to have a bit of the sandwiches Miss Darcy had the good sense to pack us.”

“Miss Darcy, you say?” Tony swings a leg over his horse and drops down. It surprises Steve how fluid his movements are. He does steady himself against the flank of the horse once he's on solid ground, but Steve thinks it might be due to his heart weakness, and it concerns him. 

Steve drops down from his horse, gathers up the reins to all three animals, and ties them to a sorry looking bare tree. He retrieves a skin with water in it, pulling off his hand and pouring it in for the horses to drink. 

“Remind me never to kiss the crown of your head again,” Tony says and it raises a smile on his lips that Steve cannot deny. 

Once the horses are watered, Steve goes about sorting through the supplies. There isn't much, it's only a day trip and Steve should be able to get a rabbit, or other small game for their dinner. He pulls out the tin and brings it over to Tony who has settled down on a few stumps of trees along the rocky foothills. 

“Formidable,” Tony says as Steve lays out a small checkered cloth on the stump and opens the tin. 

“What's that?”

Tony picks up the dried meat and bread. He chews on it and points to the swell of land around them. It's colored in tones of brown and streaked with an occasional green or orange. “They say the west is beautiful land but I would say formidable. It's outstanding and lovely yes, but the dogwoods, and sagebrush are hiding the real dangers don't you think, Sheriff?”

“I think you've been reading too many of those dime store novels. Bucky likes to read those penny novels, the ones you put your ad in. What the west is – is a tragedy to some, opportunity to others, and an escape for a lot of other folks.”

“And for you?”

“A little bit of all three, of course,” Steve replies and cannot help but feel comfortable in his own skin again. Talking to someone who knows him to his soul hasn't ever been a luxury for Steve. Bucky has always known Steve, never chastised him, but always hid him. 

“Well, I am not your tragedy, dear Sheriff.”

“Are you not? I've heard your heart is going to break mine.” He doesn't mean to bring it up, but with Bucky lying near death, the press of Tony’s health and well-being eats at his solace so that he cannot find peace. 

“The doctor exaggerates,” Tony says but his eyes tell a different story. It isn't like Tony can lie, they've discussed his ill health before, and it's like a lead weight on Steve's soul. Steve saw Tony succumb to his heart’s sickness. 

Instead of continuing down the vein of the hopeless, Tony takes a swig of his water and then asks, “Bucky means the world to you. Should I be worried?”

Steve is surprised and laughs as he shakes his head. “Buck is like a brother to me. We've been together since our parents died. Roaming the streets of New York trying to stay off a cop’s beat, and away from the lash of the nun’s whip.”

“He's family.”

“All I got,” Steve says and doesn't turn to look to see if the words cut Tony. The truth is sometimes painful. And while Steve has enjoyed these last days with Tony, he isn’t ignorant to belief he can live with Tony in some fairy tale. Tony and his lot will eventually go back to San Francisco. Steve will either face Schmidt and win, or he will face the man and die. There’s no two ways around it. It’s coming.

If they do, Tony doesn't pursue it. “We’ll find a way to save him from the poison. I promise that.”

“You can no more promise me that than the doctor can grow Bucky a new arm.” Steve says but his attention drifts away to the darkening clouds toward the ridge of the mountains. Most of the time the clouds would dump their snowy load over the peaks, but it's gathering strength and the wind chills to the bone. 

“We’d better head out. There's an old miner’s cabin across the river we can set down in before night fall.”

Tony slings his canteen across his shoulders, and then shoves the rest of the meat into his mouth, giving Steve a smile that harkens back to ones he’s seen on Peter. Steve only rolls his eyes and they pack up the horses to go. In minutes they are headed out toward the river. It takes a good two hours to hit the basin and then it becomes a steep edged climb down to the shores of the river. During the ride over to the water, the storm breaks and the weather becomes foul.

The rain splatters and hits with an icy chill. It mixes between rain and snow. It isn’t an everyday affair to have a rain snow mix this close to the Rocky’s. The air is usually so dry that on the cold days they just get snow. But today is one of those rarified autumn days teasing winter weather. The rain pelts and, like daggers, it spears against their skin. Steve keeps his hat pulled down over his eyes, but Tony’s wearing a smaller hat, a fedora, without a wide brim. His face is marked with the frigid rains. 

Trying to steer their horses down to the river promises only trouble, but in order to get to the cabin for the night, Steve needs to get them across the water ways. The best place to traverse the river is within the rocky ravine. He stops them before they start the descent. Dropping to the ground, he digs out a scarf from his saddle bag, and tosses it to Tony, who catches it with ease.

“Cover up,” Steve orders, because he doesn’t need Miss Potts reprimanding him if Tony catches his death from the cold weather. Tony doesn’t protest. Steve goes to the pack horse and checks his reins, they’re tied off well on Steve’s horse, but he still worried that they will end up losing the animal if the water’s too rough. He’ll make an assessment once they get down to the river from the plateau.

Steve hitches his body back onto Shield and says, “Give me your reins.”

Tony does without a word, and then Steve leads them down toward the ragged pathway to the river’s edge. He leads the horses down but he knows he won’t be able to keep a hold on Tony’s horse through the narrow gap between the jut of rocks. 

“Keep watch,” he says over the spatter of rain and ice. 

Tony has the scarf pulled up over his mouth but he nods and concentrates on the path, keeping an eye out for the horse’s footing. It gets uglier as they get closer to the water. The rock gets slippery with moss and old vegetation. He needs to have the horses go single file, so he turns and gives the reins back to Tony.

“Let me and the pack horse go first, don’t tug on the reins. Let her watch the horse in front of her and follow. Sway with it, let your body follow the horse’s motion.”

With hard furrowed brows, Tony bows his head and grasps the reins. He lets them hang but keeps them tucked into his gloved hands. 

“Okay?” The steep descending slope would give the most skillful horseman a test; Steve worries about Tony. He’d like to lead the horses down but with the storm pounding and increasing in intensity, they don’t have that luxury.

He rethinks his assessment as soon as they hit the trail. They have to lose the pack horse, there’s no way for the pony to get through the rugged terrain. He slips down off his horse and walks to the pack horse. Tony watches him, not asking. He may have come to the same conclusion. On a fair day, Steve would have led the pack horse down to the water, but with the jagged rocks, and a wet slick path, the horse will only be a hindrance.

He yanks off the supplies, which are not that much, and distributes them between Shield and Tony’s horse. The pony appreciates it and nudges his nose at Steve. He strokes him, and then frees him of the saddle. He sets the saddle to the side of the trail. They can retrieve it on the way back. Once he pulls the pack horse’s blanket off, Steve ties it to his horse, she’s free to go. He smacks her on the butt, and she trots off.

He dumps what supplies he can, but Tony insists on his large crate. It will be a burden, but there’s nothing to be done about it. He straps it onto Tony’s horse. 

“Where’s she going to go?” Tony says as he watches the pony make it back up the small hill.

“Back to town, most probably. She knows the way, she’ll be fine,” Steve says and climbs back into his saddle. It’s better to have Tony directly behind him anyway. The pack horse only increased the chances of failure.

Tony troubles about it, but Steve inches their horses forward along the path. It’s steep and he needs to let his body lean with the horse. From behind him, he hears small gasps of surprise as the horse finds her footing. He knows as they proceed, that Tony will realize it was the best thing to do to let the little pony free to go back to his barn in Avenge. 

He allows the horse to have her head and work her way down the rocky pathway; it takes too long and by the time they get halfway, sweat dips down Steve’s temples. Anxiety during a ride is never fun. He stretches and glances back at Tony, who is concentrating too hard on the ground, but moving with the horse like he was born to it. 

It’s Steve’s horse that makes the mistake. 

Shield hits a rough patch of tangled weeds and her hoof mustn’t land right because she bucks away from it and Steve’s not prepared. He jostles in the saddle which leads to Tony’s horse spooking. They are caught between two walls of rocks to the ravine. The horse cannot back up so it charges forward causing Shield to buck again and throw Steve forward. He pitches over the horse’s head and lands hard on his back. But he has the presence of mind of curl up and roll as he protects his head from the smashing hooves of the horses as they ram forward down to the river. Tony yells out a cry, but Steve cannot help – yet.

When the horses rush down the narrow way, Steve crouches against the rocks as the wind through the cavern hits. Shield nearly hits Steve but he’s able to avoid a direct strike to the spine. It only hits his shoulder, and he huffs in response. Steve wants to get up and calm the horse, but it’s impossible in the small space. Shield nays and leaps downward toward the water – and Steve cringes, hoping his horse doesn’t break a leg as she catapults down the wicked way.

Tony’s horse follows, but not as spooked. As a rider, Tony’s not as skilled as Steve, but he bears the reins well, and manages to steer the horse to a sedate march. He pulls up on the reins and the horse follows Tony’s lead instead of the bucking lead horse’s direction. The horse stops and Tony swings off, rushing to Steve’s side.

“Hey, Sheriff, you okay?”

“The horse,” Steve says. “Make sure she doesn’t scare again.”

“Seems she’s quieted, we still have to find yours. I think he made it down to the river.” Tony says and bends down to check Steve. “You’ve got a humdinger of a bruise on your face, Sheriff.”

Steve eases out of the notch in the rock he found safety in and touches his face. It stings but not as much as his shoulder. He tries to rotate it, but he knows a separated joint when he has one.

“You need to set my shoulder,” Steve says. “But first, secure your horse, and then we’ll do this.”

Tony gets up with a scowl on his face and tends to the horse. He’s calling her Friday, but Steve’s not sure that’s the horse’s name. He gets the horse tied to a thin pathetic looking sapling near the side of the path. When Tony rejoins Steve his eyes are fierce and he’s not taking no for an answer. He pulls out a flask.

“Drink, a lot, because this is going to hurt like hell,” Tony says.

Steve listens and takes a long swig. He doesn’t usually partake, mainly because of lessons learned as a youngster, but he gulps it down and then waits as Tony checks the join. 

“You dislocated it, for sure,” Tony says but looks up to the sky. It’s stopped raining – which is a good thing and a bad thing. “It’s snowing.”

“Shouldn’t have attempted this. Damn foolish,” Steve says and then he thinks of Bucky and how he would do anything to save the man he calls his brother. “But Bucky.”

“I know, I know, we’ll find Thor’s brother, don’t worry,” Tony says as his fingers probe the joint. He’s not taking Steve’s shirt or coat off. He slips his hand under the coat and gets a feeling for how the joint is separated. “Once we find Loki – it’s only a matter of time to get your friend better.”

“Hopefully,” Steve says. “He’s all I got.”

Tony stares at him for a good long minute, before he gets back to work. “You keep saying that, Sheriff, but you keep forgetting you have me as well.” As he says the words he pulls the joint out and then maneuvers it back into place.

Steve shouts out a long cry and then curls up, holding the arm to his chest. He bends away from Tony and vomits up his lunch, the pain strikes. He spits out the last of it and curses.

“Another,” Tony says and offers him the whiskey flask again.

Steve takes it, rinses his mouth, spits it out and then takes another long drink. He hands it back to Tony. “We got to get to that cabin tonight. No telling how much snow is gonna come down now.”

Tony stands up and asks, “How far?”

“Just over the river. On a good day it’d be less than a thirty minute horse trot from here, but -.”

“Yeah, it’s not a good day,” Tony says and flicks off the snow covering his arms and shoulders. “Get up.” He offers a hand.

Steve takes it and with a groan, stands. “I’m beginning to think that Schmidt might have planned things this way.”

“Oh, you think he controls the weather now?” Tony smiles and goes to Friday’s reins, he unties them. 

“No, but I do know he manipulates and uses, takes the advantage when he can,” Steve says. “He knew I’d never let Bucky die.”

“Of course,” Tony says and walks Friday over to Steve. “Get up.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re joking.”

“You’re the one who’s hurt, not me,” Tony replies.

“There is no way I am riding and you’re walking this horse. You ride, or we both walk, nothing else will do.” Steve holds his injured arm against his chest.

Steve thinks that Tony might actually growl at him, but instead, he wraps the reins around his gloved hand and tugs the horse to follow. Steve falls in beside him and they find their way down the rocks and jagged trail. Each and every jog and jolt hits the soreness in his shoulder, but Steve muffles his curses and keeps his pain to himself.

He keeps whistling, even in the fierce wind, trying to call out for Shield. He hopes the horse hasn’t broken her leg, or slipped a shoe. Out here, he’d have to shoot the horse if the leg is broken or even sprained. There’ll be no two ways about it. 

The wind masks his calls to Shield and Tony sidles close to him as if he knows without speaking that the horse means the world to Steve. Steve’s grateful for the attention, and realizes that Tony is right – he does have more than just Bucky. 

That concerns Steve. The Red Skull gang knows that Bucky and Steve are close, if Schmidt spends anytime or thought on how to get Steve out of the picture, it would be to threaten Steve’s family – and his friends in Avenge are his family.

He peers over his shoulder, to the unseen and far distant town. Sam will take care of his people, he’s sure of it. But he wonders if he’s been manipulated into a trap. 

“Schmidt know you’d be bringing me along?”

Tony only shrugs. “Don’t think so, how would he?”

Steve feels an itch like there’s some possibilities. “You sent the letter, right?”

“Yes, sent it like you told me.”

Steve hisses as the wind shocks and the snow flies around them. “I don’t trust him. We might be walking into a trap or we might be walking away from a town about to be hit.”

“Now, you’re thinking this? Why not think that Schmidt is doing exactly as before. He wants to know me, I’m big news,” Tony says and even with the scarf over half his face, Steve can tell the man is smiling.

“I get that, I just don’t trust him.”

Tony considers Steve and nods. “I agree. So, what do you want to do?”

“Get my horse is first,” Steve says. “But I’m not sure. I don’t like the thought of leaving Sam on his own. We need to bed down soon, this storm’s getting worse.” 

“Okay, we get across the river, get to the cabin, spend the night and then decide?” Tony says. “Your friend, Sam, he knows what to do, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, but he’s a Negro. If Schmidt threatens the town and Sam needs to defend it, if he ends up killing a white man, I can only hope there won’t be a lynching. I told him to sit tight and just watch. But I still worry.” Steve shakes his head. “I think I’ve let my emotions take control. Maybe I should have sacrificed- but it’s not my sacrifice to make.”

“No, it’s not, you’re doing the right thing.” Tony leads them to the open riverbed. Shield is standing waiting for them.

“You old son of a -.” Steve smiles and strokes the horse. “Stupid horse.” He kisses Shield’s nose. He takes the time to check over the mare and she stands still, waiting. She’s fine except of a few scrapes and a thin sheen of sweat on her coat.

“Well, she’s a picture, much more welcoming than this,” Tony says and turns to the rapids.

The river mirrors the anger of the storm. It’s churning and ugly. If they are going to Schmidt’s they have to cross it. If they aren’t then they shouldn’t chance it.

“Listen, Sam knows to sit tight,” Tony says as the snow catches on his eyelashes. “He’s not going to do anything stupid. We got to get to Schmidt’s and get that damned brother of Thor’s. Plus Thor has vowed to help Sam, right?”

“Yes, he has.” Steve refused Thor’s insistence on coming along with them. Though Thor went searching, he always came back empty handed. Steve told Thor he believes he can convince Loki to return without the added animosity the two brothers share. In deference, Thor agreed to help Sam if there was a need. 

Tony decides for him. “We cross and we stay the night, and then we head up to Schmidt’s. Once there, we can confront Loki.”

“And we can find Clint,” Steve says and his doubts vanish, but the rolling river before him churns his fears. “It ain’t going to be easy.”

“Nothing worth it ever is.”

Steve wipes the snow from his face and says, “You’re becoming a philosopher on me, Tony.”

“No, I’m just a realist in some situations,” Tony says and indicates a narrowing of the banks up stream in the river. “There? To cross?”

Steve studies it. It’s the way across in the best of times. “Yep, let’s get this done. The horses can take the current, but you gotta hold them steady. Don’t let them have their head, they’ll spook too easily.”

“I get it.” Tony says and points to Shield. “Need help up?”

“I should be able to do it, just focus on yourself,” Steve says and grabs hold of the saddle’s horn. With a great heave, he swings onto the saddle. It isn’t graceful or powerful, but it’s sufficient to get him seated again on the horse. 

He leans over and groans as he strains his shoulder. He needs to ignore the pain, because he’ll need to lead both horses across the water. Grabbing his rope, he throws the end to Tony. 

“Tie her up to me,” Steve says. “You know how to do a good knot?”

Tony nods and gets to work. His hands fly even in the frozen weather. The rope cuts as much as the wind but Tony’s hands show a talent for it. “Learned from the best sailor out there by the name of Rhodes.”

Tony ties it off and Steve clicks at Shield. Hopefully, the horse is done being frightened and they can get across the river without incident. He draws the horses to the edge of the river, to the banks where the rocky shore falls into the mud. In the height of summer, passage over the river is more like jumping a stream since it dries out to a trickle. But as the rains come in September and load up the river, it grows and swells into a wide and meandering waterway. Schmidt intends to divert the water up in the mountains to use in his mines, but Steve’s still fighting that battle with the Territory’s governor Pierce. 

While the river is wide it’s nothing like the mighty Mississippi or the angry Niagara, this is a river that reminds him more of a snake. Its dangers are hidden along the winding of its coils. 

Leading Shield to the shore, they slip into the river, it’s only ankle deep for a few feet and then as they continue, the rushing waters splash and lap at the bellies of the horses. Steve feels the chill of the waters on his boots. He checks on Tony, and the man’s expression is pinched and he has one hand up to his chest at his heart.

“Tony?” Steve yells over the roar of the currents and the blowing snow.

“Go, I’m fine,” Tony says but his words sound more strangulated than comforting. The river’s less than a quarter mile across but as they tread farther into it, the water slaps against their legs and Steve shivers against the cold, his arm and shoulder screaming in pain. 

His need to get to the distant shore accelerates with each splash of the waves. He knows Tony’s in trouble, his expression, the paleness of his face scares Steve more than he’s willing to admit. As he firms up his grasp of the ropes, he kicks Shield faster, but then he hears a choked, gurgled response from behind as the snow flies in a flurry around them.

Whipping around, he’s just on time to see Tony, slowly, inexplicably, slide out of his saddle and plunge into the freezing current. 

CHAPTER 10

Steve only just manages to get off of Shield before the horse bucks. He yells to her to get across the river, slapping her in the hindquarters to get her moving as the water sloshes over his head. The horse pauses and then rears before plunging forward, taking Tony’s horse with her. Hoping the horse can make it to shore on her own, Steve focuses his effort on finding Tony. He swims through the rapids, the river a torrent of waves and current. 

Above the din of the river, Steve screams, “Tony! Tony!” 

The water rushes around him, drowning out his calls, and pushing him farther away from where Tony went down. Frigid waters crest over him and he fights against the force to stay upright. He allows his body to fall into the current, trying to find a way to follow Tony. 

Searching, he scans the rapids, and the froth of the waves. Dead branches lead him astray several times; the snow flurrying around him diminishes his ability to see clearly. Any hope quickly dwindles and he starts to turn, using a powerful breast stroke toward the opposite shore and the horses as he loses his footing on the slippery rocks and sand beneath the surface. Even as he ducks toward shore, he sees it.

A bob of a fist, a hand reaching out, thrashing for help. 

Cutting into the water with powerful strokes, Steve slices toward the beacon, the hand, the one hope he has to find Tony. He ignores the bitter, icy cold of the water. It burns it is so icy. He keeps his eyes sighted toward the hand, and then it vanishes beneath the waves again. Undeterred, Steve kicks hard against the current’s pull and approaches Tony. Only to have the water rip Tony from his grasp when he comes within inches of catching a hold of his jacket.

The flow of the water captures Tony and, for a second, Steve sees his head briefly above the surface as he tries to suck in some needed air. His eyes are wild, his mouth gasping and wide open for air. 

With renewed energy, Steve zeroes in on Tony and swims across the rapids. The water pulls and tugs, yanks and shoves. He nearly goes under twice and a downed tree branch bashes him in the side of the head, knocking him off course. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself, to blink away the pain. He clings to offending log as he tries to right himself, as his vision solidifies again, and he remembers that Tony is in dire straits. 

Releasing the log, he thrusts through the waves and tries to find Tony. A wall of water washes over him, forcing him down and he struggles to get back up to the surface, gurgling for air as he fights to get back to his search. Even though the water isn’t deep, it’s barely enough to swim in, the current is fierce like a mighty god throwing him around as if he is a doll. He spits out water before he calls for Tony again.

“Tony! Tony!” His brain jitters in fear and he begs and pleads with God for mercy. This is his fault, he did this to Tony. He sinned and now Tony-. He spots a head – face down in the water. “Oh God, Tony.”

He plunges through the water, somehow seizes Tony’s limp body. Getting his feet under him, Steve slogs through the river. He climbs the slippery rocks and slope up to the side of the river with his precious bundle tight to his chest. He dumps Tony against the bank, his legs still draped into the river’s edge. Steve pants and chokes, but realizes he has little time to save Tony. Scrambling up the slope, he slips and falls into the slush and mud. He grapples with a tree root, uses it as leverage, and manages to get up onto the bank. Reaching down, he grabs under Tony’s arms and slides him upward. It’s a struggle but he gets Tony onto the bank. 

“Damn it, damn it,” Steve sputters as notices the blue on Tony’s lips, the gaunt and wan look to his skin. Steve hesitates for a second as the images of the war dead come unbidden to mind. He wipes the thoughts away with a grunt and then turns Tony’s head. He clears out his mouth, but that doesn’t help. He’s not breathing.

“Come on, Tony, come on,” He says and presses down on Tony’s chest. There’s a slight gurgle, water bubbles up through his parted lips. Steve hits Tony hard on the sternum near where he has the heart battery implanted. 

Tony chokes and pitches upward, but then slumps into the mud and snow, falling unconscious again. Light snow flutters all around them, coating the ground with a white silvery sheen.

“Come on, you’re alive,” Steve mutters and repeats it again and again as if saying the mantra will force it to be true. Dragging Tony further up the bank, Steve kneels next to him and turns him onto his side. He smacks him a few times in the back eliciting a wet cough and then choking noises. “Come on, Tony, come on.”

Tony shudders under his hands and flops backward only to have his eyes flutter closed. 

“No, no, no,” Steve says and yanks off his gloves to slap Tony on his face. His fingers are numb, the cold air and the water do not mix well at all. 

Tony burbles a reply and clutches at his chest.

At least he’s moving, Steve thinks. “Come on, Tony, tell me what to do.”

Tony’s once pale skin blossoms with color as he gags and chokes. He rolls to his side again and his whole body quakes. He groans and paws at the mud. 

“Tony, please,” Steve says and, against the cold, the snow, the hell of losing the man he loves, Steve reaches and scoops Tony up in his arms. Somehow he finds the strength to clamber to his feet even in the slippery mess. He straightens and sees that Shield and Tony’s horse aren’t far away. The fire of fear in his chest, Steve carries Tony across the bank toward the horses. The twigs and roots in his way try and trip him, but something like possession of spirits facilitates Steve’s progress. 

He gets to the horses and lays Tony on the snowy ground. “I’m going to get the horses ready. We’re not far from the cabin now.”

“Shock,” Tony stutters out. It sounds more like shhhh-Ock.

“What?” Steve says and wonders if Tony is diagnosing himself. “I know you’re probably in shock because of the cold water. You’re going to freeze to death, both of us are going to freeze to death if I don-.”

“Sh-shock heart.”

“What?” Steve says and stops, pausing as it dawns on him. “You want me to shock your heart.”

“Shock, heart, now,” Tony mutters and his body trembles in Steve’s grasp. 

“I don’t know how, I don’t know what you want me to do,” Steve replies and rubs Tony’s chest, hoping to God he doesn’t have to do what Tony is inferring. What is he inferring? How the hell would he ever be able to do this?”

“Got to, got to shock heart.” He moans and his body convulses under Steve’s care.

He yelps and jerks backward as Tony goes into a convulsive fit. His eyes roll up in his head and his whole body seizes.

“Shock?” Steve cries out and grabs Tony. Even though he can still feel the tremors Steve ignores them. He tears away the jacket, the buttons of Tony’s shirt, rips away the undershirt to reveal the mechanical device in his chest. “What the hell is it, Tony?” Tears stream down Steve’s face and mix with the flakes of snow. The snow picks up, the wind slices through him and he shivers in response. 

The little mechanical device judders in Tony’s chest. It isn’t right – it’s not the way it is supposed to work. Steve has seen it enough times to know better. “How do I shock it? How do I get it to work better?”

He doesn’t expect Tony to answer him. He climbs up and digs through the saddlebags on Tony’s horse. He has to have something, some device to shock him. His hand hits on something metal. Digging it out of the bag, he pulls it out and identifies it as some kind of battery. 

“Is it this?” Steve says and sniffles because it is cold and his whole body shivers against the wind as it hits him full force. He tumbles down to the ground next to Tony and sets the battery to the side. “Wires? Do I need wires?” He needs something to connect it up but then Tony’s hand flails and grasps onto Steve’s coat.

“Inside.”

“Inside?” Steve doesn’t know what he means. Is it inside the device in his chest? Inside the battery? Inside the saddlebag? He’s getting desperate and frightened. The world spins around him and his vision tunnels to a pinpoint. He squeezes his eyes closed and steadies himself. Once he does, he opens his eyes and realizes they are wet. The tears stream down his face and freeze it. He’s losing everything dear to him, everyone dear to him. He doesn’t know what to do; he’s woefully unprepared.

He pads around on the ground like a blind man, and then picks up the battery again. Tony tugs at his sleeve and beats at his chest.

“Inside.”

“Inside the thing-.” Steve says and sees Tony shake violently against the cold. They are both going to die of exposure if Steve doesn’t get his act together. He checks out the device, sees a small metal panel on the front. He twists the tiny knob and the metal door opens to reveal the inner housing. It looks like the inside of a clock, except it’s sputtering and popping instead of ticking away. He has no idea what it does. All he knows is that it keeps Tony’s heart functioning and Tony alive.

He sees two copper wires and pulls them out of the side. They are attached somewhere inside the device but the two ends are free. He pulls the battery to him and finds the nodes to attach the wires. His fingers are numb and he fumbles with the wires. He needs to use delicate, precise motion to get them attached, but he can barely hold onto the battery let alone get the damned things wired to Tony.

“Shit,” he curses and drops the battery. Again he tries as he listens to Tony heave in a breath and then shake as he exhales it out. The tears fog his sight and he murmurs, “I’m trying, please God I am trying.”

Finally he gets one of the wires twisted onto the node and then start to work the other one as well as the wind blasts him in the face. He glances at Tony, sees the droplets of water in his hair turning to ice. “Damn it.”

He grimaces and gets the other wire secured to the node. “What now? What now?” He can’t feel his face and they need a fire but right now he has to save Tony. “What now.”

“Turn on,” Tony gasps and moans. 

Steve notices the small switch and, with a great sigh, he flips it. The arc of lightning throws Steve yards off of Tony as the battery shocks the device in his chest. Blue arcs of fire shoot out of Tony’s chest and he howls in response.

“God, no, no, no!” Steve crawls to his hands and knees, sinking into the muddy snow. He gets to Tony’s side and seizes the bare wires. They scorch his hand and he fights to tug them away from Tony. It takes too long to overcome the strength of the electrical current, but he’s able to do it. Thank God it is only a small battery. He jerks and throws the battery to the side. Tony slumps down from the bowed position his body had been thrown into. The smell of burning flesh hangs heavy in the air. 

“Tony? Tony?” When Tony opens his eyes they are wide and terrified, his look haunted. At least he’s still alive. “Okay, Tony, let’s get out of here.”

The cabin is close. He needs to get them out of the wind and the snow. Glancing up at the sky, the fierce dark clouds urge him to move, to get to warmth. “Looks like a storm.” Steve grapples and searches around to find the battery. He does and scoops it up before he stands. Going to Shield, he stuffs it back in her saddle bag. 

Returning to Tony, he closes the small door but cannot manage to lock it. His fingers are not willing to work like that anymore. With a shoulder to Tony’s chest, Steve hoists him up and wobbles as he straightens. Getting to the horse is a feat, but he does get him in the saddle. 

“Can you ride? Tell me Tony, please?”

Tony only grumbles and bends forward. The gaunt look of his face from before would be welcome now, because death looks as if it has taken hold. The tiny door to the device swings open on his chest. Drools streams out of his mouth and he makes tiny whimpering noises. 

“Please hold on.”

It’s not to be, because as soon as Steve steps away Tony slides off the horse again. Steve’s quick enough to catch him. 

“Okay you want to ride with me. You could have just asked,” Steve says and shivers. His wet clothes are becoming stiff from freezing in the cold weather. He staggers over to Shield. It takes all of his strength but he’s able to maneuver Tony onto the horse. “Stay, don’t fall off. Hold onto the saddle.” He places Tony’s hand on the horn of the saddle. 

After a moment to check and see if Tony’s going to stay stable on the horse, Steve goes to check on the ropes to tie off the other horse to Shield. The ropes are frozen and not easily handled. He wishes he still had his gloves on but they are gone and he doesn’t have time to search for them. Once the horses are secured, he goes back to Shield, and with a firm grip gets into the saddle behind a dangerously forward leaning Tony. He grabs the reins and with arms around Tony, kicks Shield to a start.

The snow picks up as they head toward the cabin. It’s only up the bank to the river and to the side, sheltered from the worst of the storm. The cold bites at him and he grits his teeth as the wind beats at them. In his arms, Tony pushes forward making progress difficult. 

“Come on Tony, stay with me here.”

Tony’s body quivers in the cold. His skin looks gray and hollowed out. They need a fire fast. When they get to the one room cabin, Steve hops down from Shield and nearly topples over – his body is so cold it doesn’t listen to his commands. He gets Shield to the side shed and unties the other horse, leaving him in the enclosure near the shed to feed. Luckily, Tony seems to have come to a little more sense of himself and he doesn’t fall off Shield as Steve unloads some of the supplies. When he returns he helps Tony down to the ground. Tony nearly goes to his knees but Steve stops him, guiding him to the door. The snow flurries around them – it is turning into snow showers now. The worst of the storm is nearly upon them. 

“Shouldn’t have decided to go out today. Too damned late in the season.” He gets to the traveler’s cabin and kicks open the door with Tony in his arms. Bringing Tony to the cot near the fireplace, he helps Tony sit and then leaves to collect the supplies. They don’t have much but it’s going to have to be enough. They might have to survive a storm, or worse, a blizzard.

After he drops the bags in the cabin, he goes back outside and gathers up some wood. There are a lot of fallen branches that are dry enough to burn. He’ll have to come out later and split some logs. Right now, what he can scavenge from the ground is well enough for them. There are a few split logs piled next to the porch that he finds and scoops up as well. Going back into the cabin, he sees that Tony has moved. He’s sitting by the fireplace, trying to clean it out.

“Tony, let me,” Steve says and he finds his hands are shaking from both fear and the frigid cold. 

“Help, I can help.” Tony jerks as he talks. The cold has set on him. His skin looks blue, his eyes look like glass. His hair is frozen.

“No, sit, I can do this.” He goes back to the bags and searches for the matches. He finds them easily and thankfully they are dry. He stacks the wood and kindling in the fireplace as Tony stares dully at the stones.

“Surprised this place as a regular fireplace and not a stove,” Steve says and tries to light a match. His fingers don’t cooperate and he misses the strike, breaking the head of the match. “Damn it.” 

He tries with a second match – it happens again. “Shit.”

“Language, Sheriff.”

“Language my ass, I’m fucking cold,” Steve says and this time the match strikes true. The flare of the flame startles him and he stares at it entranced for a second before Tony’s quaking jolt him back to reality. Turning to the fireplace, he starts the kindling and it bursts into flames easily enough. It’s a little smoky because of how wet it is, but it will do.

“Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” Steve turns back to Tony realizing the man is in shock, hypothermic, and probably still suffering heart problems. He eases Tony back to the single cot and helps him finish unbuttoning his coat and shirt. He jitters as Steve touches him with cold hands. There’s no different in temperature between them, they are both nearly frost bitten and in jeopardy. 

Tony seems all the weaker the more time goes by, his body limp and pliant in Steve’s slowly thawing fingers. Luckily the cabin is small enough that the fire begins to warm it in minutes. Tony jerks under Steve’s ministrations, his eyes dull and unfocused.

“Tony, are you with me?” Steve says and cradles his face in his hands once he’s gotten his shirt and undershirt off. “Tony look at me, tell me you can hear me.”

Tony grunts but doesn’t seem able to get any words out. 

“Okay, okay,” Steve says and knows that Tony’s sinking fast. He needs to get him out of the rest of his wet clothes and bundled in some blankets. Kneeling, he pulls off Tony’s boots and then goes to his pants. He works as quickly as he can considering his fingers have lost all feeling and his own body threatens to sink into the oblivion of the cold. But the fire is a God sent and he keeps functioning, keeps forcing his body to do what it needs to do.

Once he has Tony disrobed he settles him on the cot under the thin blanket there. He has his bedroll from Shield and goes to retrieve it. Untying it, he brings it to Tony and lays it on him, tucking it in. 

Tony shudders under his care but looks up at him, his eyes dark and luminous. “What about you?”

“Getting there,” Steve says and cannot deny he’s happy that Tony is at least speaking now, forming sentences. His brain seems to be taking into account everything that’s going on around him. 

Once satisfied, Steve directs his attention to pulling off his own clothes. By the time he’s focusing on himself, he’s cold and wretched and only wants to fall asleep in front of the fire, but he can’t. The wet clothes will be his undoing. Tugging off his boots, he strips down. Steve lays all of their clothes out near the fireplace to dry them and then scoops up Tony’s bedroll to lay on the floor next to the cot.

As he sits down, Tony’s hand hits him in the shoulder. “Don’t be foolish, get into the cot with me. It’ll be warmer than way.”

Steve doesn’t fight, he wanted to – he didn’t want to presume. He crawls into the bed, spreading the extra blanket over them and snuggles behind Tony so that Tony will be closest to the fire. Skin to skin, Steve sinks against Tony and sighs his relief.

After a moment, Steve asks, “Are you okay?”

Tony only hums his assent.

“Your heart.”

“Is fucked, but it will last me the day.” Tony reaches back to find Steve’s hand and curls it around him. Steve’s hand falls on the plate of the device in his chest. Tony lifts Steve’s hand to his lips. “Or more.”

“Tony, you have to tell me if your heart, if you are feeling poorly.”

He doesn’t answer, but Steve can still feel the steady beat of Tony’s heart under the palm of his hand so he stays quiet. He listens to Tony’s regular breathing, taking some solace in the rhythm. As he lies next to Tony, the fire burns brightly, the shadows of the storm darken the cabin and Steve knows he’s made a mistake.

He kisses Tony’s neck and whispers, “I’m sorry for getting you into this mess.” 

Tony doesn’t answer; he’s deeply asleep.

He shouldn’t have involved Tony. Bucky, the Skull gang, Schmidt, they are all Steve’s problem – not Tony’s. When the storm clears, there’s only one thing to do – send Tony back to the town and face the Skulls alone.


	10. The Prism (Steve/Bucky) or the Star Wars fusion I did that one time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I posted this but took it down because I thought 1. I couldn't really motivate myself to complete it, and 2. I really wished I had placed it as a Stony story instead. It would have worked better with Bucky being lured to the dark side and Steve as his brother trying to bring him back. Alas, I did not do that. So this I consider one of my 'lost stories'. Here it is...

The ship approaches the drop site. He doesn’t look out the port windows as a mix of rain and snow batters the sides of the hull. If he had been a Jedi, someone would comment on his focus, his determination. But he’s not a Jedi – never was, never will be. His mission, his focus zeroes in on one of the lost Jedi. He keeps his eyes ahead and he stands and sways with the maneuvering of the ship as it closes in on the target. Clutching onto strap attached to the rail of the hull and holding firm, Bucky bites back his fears. He might not be a Jedi, but he’s learned a thing or two from being at the Sacred Archive. 

Long ago when the Republic fell and the Jedi with it, a small scattering of Jedi –scholars not Knights - escaped along with regular citizen and guards loyal to the Republic to find their way to the secret base out beyond the outer reaches of the Empire. There, the last Jedi – minor players in the vast theater of slaughtered Jedi – set up a library to save all Jedi knowledge. They toiled away to keep the traditions and the sacred information from all prying eyes.

He knows all about the Jedi, because they were his teachers. He might not be a Jedi, but he grew up in their halls, running their errands and playing with the few Padawans they dared to take on. As scholars and part of the Service Order, they should not take on any Padawans, but they believed it their sacred duty to preserve the way of the Jedi Knights as well. 

One of the Padawans had become his closest friend. They spent hours together even when the Jedi Scholar of the Archive admonished him for taking Steven away from his studies. He would apologize and Steve would find his way back to his small room to learn the ways of the Force again. 

There were not many Padawans at all so Bucky never felt out of place. His parents were part of the Sentinel Guard – a newly established order that vowed to keep the last remnants of the Jedi and their library safe. As Steve learned the ways of the Force, Bucky took the Sentinel Guard’s Oath. Steven came to his ceremony and smiled that lovely, slightly abashed smile and congratulated Bucky. It had been one of the best moments of his life. 

Even though that way of life remained in jeopardy every day, Bucky valued it. The time he spent with Steven – or Steve as Bucky called him – became the highlight of his days even after long hours training. Trying to stay off the radar of the roiling rebellion with the fall of the Empire, and the rising First Order was the singular focus of the Guard. While the Jedi labored to save all the knowledge of the galaxy, the Guard continued to secure their safety. These were not the Knights of the Temple – there were the scholars and the artists, the Jedi, the wise, the Service Order of the Jedi. Or what was left of them.

The ship banks and he grabs onto the strap to stay standing. He glances to the side, his battle buddy meets his gaze with a determined fierceness. Sam knows how important this mission is, but not how very important and personal it is for Bucky. Jedi may not form attachments, love might be forbidden but it's not impossible and it's not as if a Jedi can switch off emotions. Steve has been his star, his guide, his one hope when all other hopes have dissipated. While Bucky plays the big game always acting like everything rolls off his back, Steve saw through all that. He doesn't know if it's the Force or just how Steve always looked at him. He just knows his heart and force sensitive soul seeks Steve for a reason.

He twitches a little getting ready for the drop into enemy territory. The First Orders rise to strength and power took everyone by surprise. The Scholars at the sacred archive had thought after the fall of the Empire they could finally come out of hiding, but Snook and the hell of the First Order quickly snuffed that out. He recalls historical debates and arguments within the High Circle of the Archive. It had such a classy name for a small hut in the middle of the village. The Scholar Jedi all gathered around as did the Sentinel Guard General.

Steve and Bucky hadn't even been born yet. But he still thinks of it as something he experienced. Sarah, Steve's mom, had spoken of it and described it so many times. The Sentinel Guard leader, Alexander Pierce had advocated for a return to the greater society. The galaxy needed them. The worlds across the expanse of space would fall into chaos without the guidance and wisdom of the Scholar Jedis.

Erskine and Peggy - going by their given names and not Jedi names since they had cast aside that part of their heritage - listened and argued that the worlds of the galaxy still shook with instability. Going forth would lead to more upheavals and could be detrimental to the future. That night, General Pierce turned on them. The encampment had been burned to the ground, Sarah and Bucky's parents managed to escape with their lives but little else.

It had been with great sadness they had buried the one Colonel who'd saved them, Colonel Phillips. With the Jedi Scholars the archive moved, they stayed on the run for years. Both Steve and Bucky had been born on the run, in ships as they stayed well hidden from the turbulence of the galaxy. With the rise of the First Order, the Scholars secured a quiet planet away from the prying eyes of the rest of the galaxy again, waiting for the right time to reveal themselves. They faded from memory, became myth and legend. No one knew of the Jedi and their secret archive.

Except for Pierce. Now a general of the First Order, and answering to the mysterious Sith Lord, the Red Skull. The Sith who abducted Steve seventeen months ago and imprisoned him.

Bucky tries not to imagine the hell that Steve has gone through all these months or the fact that he had to fight the Scholars themselves to be allowed to search for him. The Jedi Scholar Peggy had seemed the most approachable.

"We need to get him. This is actionable intelligence." Bucky slammed his metal hand on to the conference table. They’d found this ancient hideaway amongst the gnarled trees and swamps of Athansosia. This place so far beyond the center of life in the galaxy had been forgotten. It served the archive well.

"He has been under the influence of the Sith Lord for too long," Jedi Scholar Peggy had said, her dark eyes mournful but firm.

"You can't leave him there to rot."

"Do you think, dear Sentinel Guardian James that I would like to leave the most talented and strongest in the Force padawan I have ever encountered with that nightmare of a Sith Lord. Do you think that for a minute?" It was a rare thing to see Peggy angry.

He refused to be thwarted. "I'm going to do this. You can either support it or not. This has been going on for far too long."

He'd wanted to scream and fight but the Scholars of the Jedi order taught him as well as the younglings.

Peggy stepped up to him, placing her aged hand in his metal shoulder. "We have so few of the younglings left. The fact that Steven ranked as a Padawan is of great importance. Not many can face the trials. This is his trial."

He didn't turn to face her - he couldn't - it hurt too much. His heart pounded against his chest, causing an ache in his sternum. "We can't leave him alone with the Red Skull. The Sith try to convert Jedi. They did it before - with the Emperor. The First Order is worse, they’ll try and change him."

She folded her hands into the opposite sleeves of her robe. "Yes the great Service Order of the Jedi has been besmirched by the evil doings of the dead Emperor. I cannot have what's left of us be turned." She stood looking out upon the twisted branches to the far below shipyard and dock.

"You'll let me go?"

"A small contingent. You, your battle partner, and Hawkeye as your pilot. You must take him to watch and to see."

His heart raced for a different reason then for the idea of finding Steve again for holding him for the first time. They'd never confessed feelings, feelings that were truly prohibited to the Jedi order. He hurried to follow her orders but not before she stopped him with these words.

"Save him if you can," she said with agony lacing her words. "But if you cannot, do not let him suffer."

The implication had been explicit and clear. Even now as the ship battles the raging winds of the planet's atmosphere Bucky doesn't know if he could do the ultimate. If he could kill Steve to save the rest of the galaxy and put order to the Force.

Clint also known as the Hawk of the Sentinel Guardians turns to them from the pilot seat. Over the roar of the engines he yells, "We got bogeys coming in. Brace for impact."

Bucky only shares a quiet look with Sam. He’s got that damned bird that follows him around all over the place sitting on his shoulder with a small leather hood over its head. Redwing has been Sam’s companion for years and Scholar Peggy has confessed that the bird is Force sensitive and that’s why Sam bonded to it so well. As he stands watching his friend, the world explodes around them. The ship rocks and lurches as it’s struck again and again. Bucky holds onto the strap as Sam swings and grabs onto Bucky. Redwing flutters its wings. They don't have any other air support. Clint has to get them in or as close as he can and then fly off to hide in the asteroid belt of the Gavinian Systems.

He loops the ship toward the planet but then at the last minute pulls up. Few could outmaneuver Clint's flying skills. Sam whoops in the background as Bucky clings to the rail. He only wants to get there. The intelligence that they received from the bounty hunter, the Black Widow, carved terror into Bucky's chest like a serrated knife, jagged and torn. She'd told them that within the Gavinian system, the sixth planet from the twin stars, had hanging over it a large structure as big as the Death Stars of old, but there was something different about this space station. It wasn't round like a planetoid. It was a multiplex station like a an insect hive. Complex and interwoven on purpose. To ensure safety and security. 

Part of their mission would include flying close enough to the partially constructed station to surveil it. The three of them had decided that the spying part of their mission would come secondary to the rescue part, especially after hearing Black Widow’s tale. The most intriguing part of her information came when she talked about the "dog" at Red Skull's feet. The description still twists his belly, the thought of Steve cowed and chained at the feet of the Sith Lord drives Bucky into a rage. According to the Black Widow, the Red Skull tied the Jedi to his side as a punishment. 

“What else?” Bucky had asked. Only Sam’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from lunging forward and dragging the information out of the bounty hunter. They all knew Natasha to be one of the more respectable hunters in the galaxy but the idea that she stood there and did nothing to help Steve rankled Bucky to his core.

When he asked what else happened, her face paled and she shifted her gaze away from him to the floor. “You don’t want to know, Sentinel. There’s been a lot of things I’ve done in my life, a lot of red in my ledger, but that – what he was doing to your Jedi it shouldn’t be done to anyone.”

She wouldn’t tell Bucky and his dread heightened until he could barely stand it. After that, he’d confronted the Jedi Scholars and begged them to allow him to save Steve. Only Peggy had supported him. Even now this trip, this mission was not sanctioned. 

As the ship rattles and buckles, Clint calls from the cockpit, “We got fire. Hold on.”

“We almost to the drop point?” Sam asks, his voice controlled but urgent.

“Nearly there according to the intel Nat gave us.” He hisses and then screams, “Here we go.”

Bolts hit the ship and it shudders under Clint’s control. The ship veers but a barrage of bolts strike their mark. In response the ship careens as Clint yells out his warnings. There’s little they can do, the ship isn’t a fighter and has barely any defenses other than the fighter pods –but they can’t buckle into them and drop to the planet at the same time. 

“What about the shields?” Bucky says as the ship creaks and sputters in the air.

“Barely there,” Clint says. He’s fighting with the controls, hitting the console, switching toggles. It isn’t working. The ship is older than the junk on Jakku. “Hold on, big hit coming.”

He’s not lying – the whole of the inside of the ship lights up as the blasts smash into their targets. Bucky loses his grip and flies toward the bulkhead, crashing into it and smacking his head. Sam slides close by him, cradling his head. Redwing flutters around lost with the cap still on his head. Sam reaches out and tugs it off so the bird can find purchase.

The ship survives but Clint curses and shakes his head. “Come on, you old piece of crap.”

Clint toggles the steering column back and the whole ship rebels. The explosions rock and lurch the ship with such force that neither Bucky nor Sam can make it back to their feet. The hull whines in protest. The electronics spark and screech.

“I gotta get her out of here,” Clint warns.

“Not without dropping me,” Bucky yells and, grappling, falling, he manages to climb to his feet. He struggles against the momentum and forces pulling on him. Getting to the cockpit he clings to the bulkhead. “You gotta drop me. Steve doesn’t have long. You heard Nat. What he’s doing to Steve.”

Clint licks at his lips and the ship jitters. There’s not much of the ship that will withstand more of the attack. If they want to get out of here, they have to save the ship. “Okay, okay. Get back there, I’m coming in low and hot. I’m dropping you and you better hope the Force is with you because you’re gonna need it.”

Without a protest, Bucky turns and clambers his way back to Sam. “Get ready, we’re dropping.”

“Not in the zone.” He taps his shoulder and Redwing flies to him, sitting on him.

“We gotta book it on foot. Get ready.” 

They check their meager weapons and then the ship swoops into a low arc toward the ground. The trees skirt it, whipping against the hull, lashing the windshield. “Here we go,” Clint says and then Bucky hears the release of the locks on the belly of the ship. 

This was a small ship with a bay opening right under Bucky’s booted feet. He clutches onto the strap, he doesn’t want to drop into the forest below without warning. He spots Sam close to him, rigging himself up with the straps as well. They both have their fists twisted in the straps waiting for the floor to drop out from under them. 

“Three, two,” Clint yells out. “May the Force be with you. One.”

The floor retracts and the ship comes to a quick hover. They have seconds before Clint becomes a sitting duck. Bucky glances at Sam and with a sharp nod, they let go of the straps. The wind and the cold hit him instantly. He flinches but then bends his legs read for the impact. It’s quick and hurts like hell but he rolls and comes to a stop. In seconds Sam is next to him. He’s checking his scanner. Redwing flies.

“Not far - only a klick to the east.”

Bucky brushes off the twigs and snow. There’s a dusting all over the ground as it snowed over the last few hours. He peers up in the sky, scanning for the ships. He hears them before he finds them. A loud boom cracks the night and Sam ducks as the forest around them quakes and trembles against the horrible sounds. He shields his eyes against the glare of the explosions.

“Hope Clint got that old bucket away or we’re not getting out of here,” Sam says and yanks out his blaster rifle. “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says and he pulls out his rifle from his back holster. He’s wearing his black leather vest with dark pants to match. Only the glint off his metal arm could draw attention to them in the dark forest surrounding the Skull’s headquarters. Sam has his wings pack on; their way out depends on him. He can’t carry out all three of them but he can get to the rendezvous point without detection.

Sam pops the goggles onto the top of his head and then sends Redwing off to do some scouting ahead. The bird caws as it leaves his shoulder. Bucky doubts the utility of the bird, but he’s not going to say anything especially when Sam agreed to come along on what amounts to a suicide mission. He nods to Sam awaiting his word on where they’re headed. Sam taps his mouth once and points to the east. Bucky moves forward, he always takes point even with Redwing in front of them. 

He checks his belt along the back for his grenades. They’re all tucked in and in place. The Guard might not have a lot of supplies but he’s been able to scare up some nice grenades, assault blasters, and some stingers for good measure. They won’t get a signal from Clint saying whether or not he’s gotten away and to the rendezvous point; they are on radio silence. 

The cold seeps into his bones as they move through the dark forest. The moons of the Gavin 6 are only chunks of rocks without much distinction or shape. It’s the large hive in the night sky that reflects the twin stars’ light towards the planet. It hulks in the sky like a mass of skulls built on top of one another. There’s something ugly and nightmarish about it. It isn’t finished; the scaffolds brace around it. He doesn’t like to think about it; he’s heard the stories of the Death Stars from the Empire. If the Red Skull is constructing another one then they are surely doomed. Their little conclave of scholars and artists with a smattering of Sentinel Guards will never be able to take out the Sith Lord and his plans for galactic dominance. 

Sam tugs at his shoulder and then marches forward toward their destination. The forest isn’t much of a forest and more of a wooded area close to the foothills and the rocky formations near where the conclave of the Skull sits according to the readout on Sam’s scanner. The snow on the ground thickens. They lose the clear sky as they continue forward. Bucky assumes they haven’t been detected and that Clint’s little maneuver in the sky as they dropped out of the ship covered their descent. Clint’s fast and able to throw cover fairly well. Though Bucky knows better than to go too far with his assumptions.

Sam tweets twice behind him and Redwing flies past Bucky’s head to land on his master’s shoulder. Bucky peers over his shoulder to find out if Sam has any intel. The bird does a little bob or two and Sam holds up his open hand twice to Bucky. Sam gestures outward and Redwing squaws once and then takes off to perch in a tree not a dozen meters from their position. Sam taps his face and then points to the tree. 

Surveying the wooded area, Bucky assesses that it's been richly planted and he spots the growth spikes driven into the ground near the trees. Obviously someone wanted the sapling trees to grow quickly. He glances up at the contorted branches some with dead leaves still on them. This is a planned forest and one that has been forced to develop at an accelerated rate. The only reason would be to refresh old landscaping on government buildings or to conceal and fortify a hide out. Bucky goes with the first. He knocks Sam in the arm and points out one of the growth spikes. Sam sees it and indicates he understands. There will be concealed observation towers or platforms in the woods. Both of the move forward but with eyes to the canopy as well as the grounds. It's Redwing who caws and alerts them when soldier leap down from hidden platforms to confront them.

Bucky shows no mercy. He knows they have shown none to Steve. He flies into action, accurately firing a round but he only targets two of their attackers. The other four are too close and both Sam and Redwing are in the way. He holsters the rifle and swings around with his metal fist impacting hard against the one attacker trying to take out Sam. Redwing swoops in and claws at another's eyes as Sam kicks and then shoots without hesitation. The last assailant isn't deterred by the fact his comrades have fallen. Instead it sends him into a rage he aims his blaster but he never lets off the round to scorch Redwing out of the sky. Bucky shoots him dead. He falls to the ground, a mess of gore and blood where his head once was. Redwing perches on Sam's shoulder with a chirp at Bucky.

"Thanks."

Bucky only nods to Sam and then they take off again. Both of them know they only have minutes before the whole base is on high alert. 

Jogging through the underbrush, they make it to the ridge line in no time. The rocky slope to the base should be easy enough to traverse except it's exposed. Bucky looks to Sam.

"Diversion."

Sam agrees without a word.

"Be careful." Bucky doesn't want any fatalities especially not his partner in the guard. He may love Steve but Sam is his brother in many ways.

Sam steps away from Bucky and Redwing jumps into the air. In seconds Sam releases his own wings and launches off the side of the hill. He's got both hands full with small blasters and he targets the fortress' towers. Bucky uses the advantage of the distraction to leap down the jagged hillside. It takes more time than he'd like, there aren't easy hand holds. With his one metal arm he's able to swing and then literally throw himself to the edge of the rock face, getting to a level perch before he needs to leap to the ground. When he does every bone in his body jars and he rolls to safety. Closing in on the stone fortress that looks to be some ancient civilization's temple, Bucky eases his way around the wall and tries to find an entrance into the building that doesn't mean the front door (or portcullis as the case may be).

The place goes into high alert as Sam fires on the towers. Blasts ring through the air tinging it with the smell of ozone, dirt, and ash. Fire spears out of the tower to Bucky's left and the portcullis opens its wide maw as soldiers in black stream out. These are not the normal storm troopers. From what Bucky recalls of discussions in the scholars room, Red Skull has set up an offshoot of the First Order saying Snook and his followers have bastardized the legacy of Emperor Palpatine and the ways of the dark side. All is not well in the First Order but the strength and power that Skull has managed to accumulate is obvious and dangerous.

The army floods the plains around the fortress and Bucky has no other choice but to call on Sam for assistance. He can't get to the ramp way into the fortress without over a dozen Skull troopers spotting him. He could take out half but then the others would most certainly kill him.

"Sam, I need a lift."

In his ear comm, Sam replies, "Yep, Redwing told me. Coming in for a pick up."

Bucky hurries away from the stone wall to give Sam enough wing room. Exposed he's in jeopardy so he gets down on one knee to decrease the targeting area and pulls out his rifle blaster to start picking off the troopers. In front of him the soldiers surge but Sam picks them off from the sky as Redwing calls out. The soldiers scramble for cover but Bucky leaps forward shooting and striding as he goes. With a mean arc, Sam loops downward and curves to pick Bucky up. In one scoop he manages it, but the load is heavy and he cries out curses, swearing at the weight of Bucky's arm.

"How the hell do you move that thing?"

"It's second nature to me now." He gestures but Sam tells him to stop since he's grasping Bucky under the arms.

"Dropping your big ass in the tower, get ready."

"Big ass? Who the hell has the big ass?" Bucky laughs as Sam swings forward to dump him into the turret of the tower.

This time rolling is a requirement and he does, crashing through the narrow window and right into the face of one of the troopers. That knocks one out of play. He scans around the square tower room to find consoles and heavy artillery but all of it - from the canons to the turret guns aren't designed to protect the inside of the tower. The soldiers there dash for weapons but Bucky doesn't give them a chance. He blasts each one in the chest and only sniffs away the charred smell of flesh. He hits the bud in his ear.

"Falcon, I’m clear. Coming through?"

"Not unless you think that's the way out.

Bucky frowns. There's a question. He taps on the console to pull up a schematic of the fortress. Sam's right, he's always the voice of reason when Bucky is the voice of chaos. "Yeah okay. I can see the southwest corner where I think the prison block is might have a shoot going into the sewer. Find us there."

"Clearing the way. Can't wait to smell you."

Bucky taps the bud to disconnect the line. "Nice."

He doesn't have a minute to spare as the door bursts open and a contingent of six men fall into the room. Luck is with him though because half of them are officers in dress uniforms and without a side arm. He shoots them without remorse. The other three are a different story. One gets a shot off that explodes on his metal shoulder causing a jolt of electricity to crackle up and now the gears. The motors whine in protest but he barrels at the guy toppling him over and then kicking out with both legs as he flies to the floor. He trips one of the remaining troopers and kicks the other in the face. He goes down but the other jumps to the defense of the one Bucky wrestles.

It's not pretty what happens next. Bucky grips the trooper on the floor around the neck, feeling with the metal hand for the vulnerable trachea. The feedback mechanism in the arm gives him the details he needs and as the other trooper shoots at Bucky he crushes the first's throat. Twisting around in time to put the man's dead body between him and the blaster. The trooper tries to re-aim but Bucky tosses the corpse aside and rushes his attacker, seizing him and then hurtling him out of the shattered window.

Giving a short breath, Bucky readies his rifle and thumbs a grenade from his back pouch. He sneaks into the corridor. It's an old stone hall with cables and wires running along the rock face.

Someone must have been in a hurry to convert the stone fortress to something more modern but what they ended up with seems like a chimera of the two that don't fit together. He recalls the map of the place. Nothing fits together well and he discovers parts of the fortress crumbled and decayed. More than once he comes up to a dead end but not because he made the wrong turn. It's due to the disrepair of the place. As he rounds a corner though he hears the alarms screech and the lights flash warnings of intruders. He doesn't know if they realize he's on the grounds but he hurries his step along anyway.

Of course, that's when the whole place explodes with activity. Everyone seems to be after him and the carnage he leaves behind will only tax him in his nightmares. He lobs a grenade as one group of troopers race toward him and then he spins around and searches for another path toward the prison block. The building shudders under the explosion from the grenade and throws him into the stone wall. Dazed, he scurries to his feet and runs toward the next hall to find the makeshift elevator. He could take it but that means hoping where ever it opens he's not faced with a dozen troopers. He opts out and searches for stairs.

In his ear Sam asks, "We getting close because it's getting hot out here."

"Can’t find the prison block," Bucky replies, his breath thick in his throat as he turns a corner only to confront another group of troopers. He sprays them with blasts from his rifle and turns to race away.

"Redwing coming in to help you."

He curses under his breath as he acknowledges it. "What's a bird gonna do?"

"Just watch him. Ye have little faith."

Bucky skids to a halt as Redwing flies in through a hole in the crumbling wall. The bird flutters around his head as if to get its bearings and then takes off down a darkened hallway. Bucky follows. It’s ludicrous to trust the bird, but right now Bucky’s out of ideas and he needs some way to navigate through the twists, turns, and dead ends. The bird leads him to winding staircase carved into the stones and the skips down them, not caring if he’s quiet or not. The place is lit up and the sirens wail; there’s no stopping the oncoming attackers. He knows that so he focuses on getting as far as he can as fast as he can. 

Redwing flies out of sight and Bucky doesn’t admit that he panics for a moment. Sam lives and breathes around that bird. Even as he confronts yet another gang of troopers and they try to shepherd him toward – who know what – he still worries about the bird. Yet he needs to concentrate his energy on the soldiers swarming around him. He takes the first two out easily enough with his blaster, but the second two take cover and that means there’s going to be a prolonged shoot out that Bucky cannot afford. The longer he stays in one place the higher the probability he will be captured. That’s not happening, not when he’s as close as he is to rescuing Steve.

Without another thought, he rushes headlong at the closest attacker. It must take him by surprise because he freezes and doesn’t even raise his rifle. Bucky grabs the weapon, jerks it away from the soldier, and, flipping it, uses the handle to bash the man’s head in. Spinning, he turns the gun on the other soldier and flattens him with an energy blast. After he finishes Redwing chirps at him and Bucky rushes toward the sound.

“How much longer? We got a squadron coming in and I can’t stay in the air,” Sam asks.

Bucky presses the ear bud firmly in place and says, “Do what you have to, get out of there.”

“Not leaving without you,” Sam returns. “Plus you got my bird.”

Bucky laughs. “Well, take cover, we’re coming out and we’re not leaving any prisoners.”

“Copy that.”

Bucky has to finish this off, he’s doesn’t have time to squander. The dampness of the area tells him that he’s getting further underground, which is a good thing. According to the schematic he briefly reviewed in the Tower, the prison block is somewhere in the southwest corner of the basement. He heads in that direction. No resistance. Which could be a good thing or a bad thing – he’s not certain. Following the stench of moisture, mildew, and mold, he doesn’t falter as he starts to pick up the faintest stench of human excrement. This has to be the prison block – and however the prisoners have been kept it is little better than animals. He curses as he thinks of Steve locked into a cell living under such conditions for over a year.

Everything about the place screams primitive. The walls are stone blocks, the drainage for the leaking water as it drips down the walls is a mote dug out of the dirt floor, running toward the farthest wall. He finally turns the corner as Redwing flaps around him. He sees the blocks of cells – one metal door after another. The prison bars are set high up in each of the doors – though the doors are huge – much taller than the average human. Any average prisoner would never be able to see out of the barred opening. He doesn’t know which one might hold Steve.

“Redwing – Steve,” Bucky says and he’s not sure the bird understands him – only Sam seems to have enough Force sensitivity to actually affect the bird’s communication. The bird with its flash of red on its flight feathers streaks forward and flies through the bars of each cell. There are screams and cries as the bird does but then Redwing zooms out again, still searching. 

The horrors starts to settle in as Bucky thinks maybe he’s too late, maybe Steve’s dead, maybe the Red Skull finally turned him. There’s nothing to be done, the one true and honest person, his one hope in this life is ruined, gone, devoured by the dark side. The anger boils over him but the sorrow eats it away. Yet the cackle of the bird jogs him out of his self-hatred and there’s Redwing – sitting on one of the little barred window ledges near the end of the cell block.

“Steve?” Bucky asks as he jogs up to the door.

Redwing bobs up and down, and then sings out. 

Bucky taps his ear comm and says, “Redwing found him, I think. Stand by.”

“Copy that,” Sam returns but he also hears the sigh of relief in his friend’s voice. 

Bucky runs to the prison cell and notices a weak blue light emanating from the narrow barred window. He scans the area and sees no surveillance equipment, no guards. Something’s up, something’s strange, but it doesn’t stop him. No guards, no force fields. He edges closer to the cell and jumps up, grasping the bars in his hands. He hauls himself up so he can peer into the cell.

It’s small only a couple of meters wide and the same in length. The stench burns his nostrils and makes his eyes tear. Huddled in the corner, he glimpses a figure – collapsed and broken. He can’t make out any details because the faint blue light in the room is too dim. Redwing tweets in his ear and he hops down. He supposes that the blue light is some kind of surveillance or camera. It’s not going to stop him. 

Checking the lock, he pulls out his blaster again and fires. The bolt breaks and falls away. He half-expects a barrage of troopers to come racing down the hallway of the prison block. No one appears and it jars him more than he thinks possible. He twists the knob of the prison door and pushes it, ignoring the fact that he knows – knows deep in his belly that this is a set up. It’s not going to be Steve – it’s someone – or something else. 

“You got him?” Sam asks but the sound feels so far away as Bucky approaches the crumpled figure in the corner. 

He steps across the small divide between them and he knows the second he sees the bones in the back of the nearly naked figure – his fears dry up and drift away like dust. He goes to his knees and reaches out, tentative and afraid. He should hurry up; he should get moving. But he wants to know that Steve’s alive and well, the moment he touches the shoulder every hope will dissipate. 

Approaching the slumped figure partially hidden by the shadows of the cell, Bucky's brain immediately goes to categorizing the injuries. He's field trained and knows how to do basic first aid. Right now there's no time for that with whatever hell Red Skull might be planning as their reception once he gets Steve out of this tomb. Still, he needs to assess the basics of Steve's injuries because he needs to know if the Jedi is, at least, mobile. As he settles next to his friend - who hasn't moved or twitched a muscle - his first fear that he's too late, that Steve is dead - is allayed when he notices the wet breathing. It's thick and labored and reminds Bucky of the times he sat by Steve's side when they were both children and Steve suffered from one ailment and then another. It only serves to increase Bucky's terror and rage. His heart in his throat he tries to speak around the fear.

"Stevie, it's me. Bucky. You're going to be okay now." It's a lie but he doesn't really care. The sight of Steve beaten and starved devours Bucky's own hope. He checks out what he can see of Steve in the strange blue light. His skin is marred by whip marks, his vertebrae stick out in stark relief against skin that looks to thin, too transparent.

There are other marks that are more difficult to discern in the dim light. They remind Bucky of hand prints as if Steve’s been slapped and grabbed and hit multiple times. Hesitating to touch him but knowing that time is of the essence, Bucky reaches out and lightly places a hand on to a too hot shoulder. The heat radiating off of Steve is in contrast to the frigid temperature of the filthy cell. Fever. Bucky doesn't inspect the cell too closely. He's already seen the bucket in the corner for human waste; he already glimpsed the thread bare blanket on the floor that Steve lies on; he's already seen the dented metal bowl with the gruel and maggots in the corner. He clearly understands the hell Steve has gone through in these many months. Even as he blinks away the tears, he cannot comprehend why he doesn't see everything tinted in the red of his fury rather than the cold blue of the light.

The brush of his hand, his flesh hand, on Steve's shoulder startles him and he jerks. That's when Bucky hears the scrape and clatter of chains. Of course the Skull would tether him even in his weakened state. Yet as Steve begins to move and moan something else clunks and scratches at the cold stone floor. It sounds heavy and thick. That's when Bucky sees it as Steve moves his head into the light. He can barely turn his head, barely shift and get comfortable. Because the thing wrapped around him, caging him looks like his own private hell.

It's a damned muzzle.

Bucky swallows down the acidic horror of it. The barbed wires, the thing looks like a contorted version of a dog muzzle attached to Steve’s face, but it is so much worse. The face plate is a cage, plain and simple but underneath it - attached to Steve's face it is a torture device. Bucky needs to steady himself as he realizes the gruel in the bowl to the side would be impossible for Steve to eat since his mouth is partially blocked by a rod pressed horizontally across his lips like a Horse’s bit. His crack lips bleed and scab over. He groans making little sounds and then he paws at the air as if begging.

It turns and twists Bucky's stomach and he needs to push away the nausea.  
Through tears caught in his throat, he whispers, "I'm here, Stevie."

Steve rattles the manacle attached to his wrist and then lifts his hand to his mouth or would if the chain allowed him. It comes up short. He can't reach his mouth with either of his hands. He's been dependent on the Red Skull to find the mercy to feed him over the past year and a half.

The frustration and the anger ravages through Bucky's common sense and he brings his blaster out and shoots the chains. Steve screams a muffled sound and starts to cry. But the tears smear along the metal caps over his eyes. He can't see anything.

"Damn it." Bucky knows he should comfort him as he feels the Jedi’s quavering under his touch, but he needs to get them out of here so he needs to remove the bindings now. He grasps Steve's shoulder and says, "Gonna shoot the rest of the chains off."

Bucky attacks the cage over Steve's head and face. He grips the sharp metal bars and realizes even as he does that the metal will cut and he cringes as it slices into his flesh hand. He yanks at it but Steve wails in response weakly batting at Bucky trying to stop him.

As he works on prying the thing off, he speaks in low tones to Steve. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here now. You're going to survive this. We'll go to our old hang outs. You know get Dumdum some booze and watch him fall over backwards into the ravine." The words jumble in his throat as he becomes more and more desperate to get the metal cage off of Steve. It isn't budging even a tiny bit. Under him as he struggles, Steve shudders with every movement and twist of the vile metal cage. Cursing, Bucky looks for the straps, or buckles, or locking mechanism. What he finds sends him to the bucket in the corner to vomit.

It's attached.

By steel bars.

Physically drilled into Steve’s jaw bone.

It looks like they used some kind of nightmare bone growth hormone with an underlying wire mesh to forge the bottom part of the cage directly into Steve's joint. He barely gets himself back together when he hears Sam in his ear.

"We are taking increasing fire. Are you flying yet?"

He knows that's the code. The words to tell him they can't withstand the attack. It's now or never. He glances up at Redwing who sits on the barred window of the cell door. The bird whistles long and low. Steve responds in a pathetic mewl. Crawling over to the Jedi's side and wiping away the grime and dirt from his sunken chest, Bucky waves to Redwing. He hits the ear bud and says, "Coming out with feathers on our tail." Another string of code to indicate they are being pursued. He doesn't know it yet, but he has to believe Red Skull set the whole thing up. He's waiting, willing to lose his prize Jedi for something more valuable. The new location of their Scholars’ base.

He won't give it up and he'll be damned if he's going to leave Steve behind in this hell. “Stevie, I can’t get this damned thing off.” He wishes he could remove the caps over Steve’s eyes – at least let him see the light, Bucky’s face, anything to show him that this nightmare is ending. He can’t get his fingers between the mesh of the wire to remove them. That’s when Redwing flutters down next to Bucky and then hops over to Steve’s side, bobbing along his hand and then pushing at it.

The touch must startle because Steve only shivers in response, but then the bird ducks under Steve’s hand so that it rests on his little head. A strange noise, cracked and pathetic, comes out of Steve and Bucky thinks it might be some sound of surprise. Steve rests his hand lightly on Redwing and Bucky can only hope it’s a sign that Steve understands who is here now, that they are going home.

“Okay, Stevie, I’m gonna blast off the rest of the chains. I can’t take this damned thing off your head, but right now let’s just get out of here.” With a quick gesture, Bucky tells Redwing to get out of the way. He lights on top of Steve’s shoulder and waits. Bucky fires quickly and repeatedly to break all of the rest of the bindings, shooting at the ankle chains and the chains that kept his body linked to the wall. It’s then that Bucky figures out that even the bucket to relieve himself was out of reach. Steve must have had to rely on Red Skull and his troopers for everything. It curdles in Bucky’s belly.

He’s not sure that Steve can stand considering the shape of his feet. They look like someone placed hot irons on the soles of his feet repeatedly – and recently. Bucky is going to have to carry him and that means little to no defensive weapons. Bucky shakes his head; he’s not going to let that stop him, nothing is going to stop him. He’s going to get Steve free from this place and they’re going to break the sound barrier running to freedom. 

“You ready?” Bucky says and thinks about his arm – losing it and the pain. Never – it was never as bad as this and Bucky tries not to consider who he’s bringing home, if it is even Steve anymore. 

Steve doesn’t reply, doesn’t respond, and part of Bucky worries that he’s just not there. He might still breathe and still be here physically, but what broken automaton is he bringing back to the base? He can’t think about it, and so he shoves those concerns away and focuses on what he needs to do now. He whistles with a sharp cutting noise and Steve goes stiff but Redwing shoots up and perches on Bucky’s shoulder. Positioning himself so that his left metal arm is under Steve’s back and his right arm under his knees, Bucky lifts. He heaves and manages with effort to get to his feet. Although it’s difficult, Bucky perceives that the amount of weight Steve lost in the seventeen months of his incarceration is considerable. He doubts that any healer, Jedi or otherwise, will be able to offer the comfort and succor that Steve will need. It tears his soul to ribbons until he has to fight to even breathe himself. The anguish drowns him and steals the air from his lungs.

He puts one foot in front of the other, though the act of walking seems like a formidable task. How will he even be able to defend them when he cannot take his mind off the fact that Steve’s dying – this is his corpse that Bucky is saving. He cannot even look into those beautiful, caring blue eyes again. The cage obstructs even a glimpse of them. Bucky knows, knows deep in his heart that just the ability to see might clear away the quaking from Steve, might calm him. 

Bucky whistles to Redwing and the bird leans over and taps the ear bud. “We’re coming, but I’m not sure we’ll get out.” He can’t explain the situation adequately for Sam to understand.

“I will come to you,” Sam says and he cuts off.

Bucky starts back down the hall, the prisoners in the cells hoot and scream at him. Redwing flies in front and swoops back and forth. The bird keeps an eye out for any threats. As soon as Bucky gets to the corner with his precious bundle the bird sweeps back in and whistles. Bucky’s heard the whistles, chirps, and caws a thousand times and can interpret them – maybe not as well or as fast as Sam can – but still he knows what the basic communication is. With Steve in a bridal carry, Bucky marches forward and tries to hurry his steps. They are on the lowest level and he’s certain he saw a garbage shoot and a sewer outlet to the outside of the fortress not far from the prison block in the schematics. Redwing keeps crisscrossing and flying back and forth to scan the area for risks and threats. They make it a few meters, stop and wait as Redwing checks again. His bundle stays silent in his arms and Bucky wonders how very weak Steve is. How will he ever recover?

He grits his teeth and trudges onward through the dank underground prison when Redwing screams a warning. Bucky doesn’t have a lot of time but he drops Steve to the side and yanks out his weapon as a half dozen troopers emerge from the stairwell. Picking the first three off is easy, the last three scatter and it becomes a shootout. Seeing where to shoot in the dark basement with its low ceiling and leaking pipes is difficult but Bucky pulls out his grenade. He knows that it’s dangerous – the whole damn fortress might fall on his head. But he dials the grenade to a stun and tosses it over to the hiding place of the troopers. It goes off with a quiet thrum and then two of the soldiers drop to the floor. That leaves the third one. Bucky eases around the pillars – major load baring structures to hold up the ancient fortress. 

It’s too late because as he scans the area to find the last soldier, a surge of troopers rush down the stairwell. Bucky has no choice. He abandons his search for the remaining trooper, runs to Steve’s side who slumps over unaware or unconscious Bucky doesn’t know which, and gathers Steve into his arms. Before he picks Steve up though, he stops and aims the blaster at one of the pillars, giving it a glancing strike. It’s not enough to crumble the entire pillar but it’s enough to weaken. It begins to sway as Bucky yells for Redwing and takes off toward what he hopes will be the inlet for the garbage shoot. 

As he races down the narrowing hall, the troopers scream for him to stop. They run after him and Bucky’s able with the blaster still clutched in his hand, to twist around and squeeze off a few blasts, but they aren’t aimed and they hit the vulnerable stone walls. Rocks and pebbles fly and scatter over them. The fortress trembles against the attack. Another barrage of bolts strikes close to Bucky’s head but he’s able to duck and turn to run again. He knows he can’t keep this up for too long.

Redwing sings out to him from ahead and he thinks the bird might have found the entrance to the shoot. He spins around once again as Steve shudders in his arms as if he’s freezing to death. He can’t comfort Steve, not now. Instead he concentrates on his painfully restricted dexterity with the blaster in his hand tucked underneath Steve’s knees. He fires and doesn’t care that it hits a round of pillars. The fortress groans under the assault and all of the troopers glance up at the shaking ancient building. 

This is his opportunity, his opening, and he takes it. He spins blasting his gun in an arc and then he heads toward the sound of Redwing singing to him through the grumbling of the building as it wobbles and shifts above them. He picks his way through the darkened halls to the farthest corner of the fortress’ basement. Redwing sits atop a large open pipe. When Bucky sticks his head in the pipe he smells raw sewage. He gags and coughs as the stench overwhelms him. 

He peers over his shoulder for a second, the whole of the building trembles beneath and over him. The pillars are failing and the troopers are converging on them. As they close in on them, the troopers open fire. Without any other options Bucky hoists Steve into the large pipe. 

“Try and stay above it,” he says and pushes him with a great shove down into the pipe. He hears a muffled scream as Steve slides downward. The scrape and thrump of the cage around Steve’s head echoes. Bucky looks up at Redwing. “Come on now, don’t complain. You led us here.” 

The bird caws and then arcs around and flies into the pipe just as a new round of laser blasts hit. Bucky throws himself into the pipe head first and tries to slow down his descent so he doesn’t hit face first into the filth below. The ride down isn’t terrible, but the rumble of the building as it fights against the crumbling pillars threatens. He taps his ear bud as he slides downward.

“On our way out. Be there.”

“Copy that,” Sam says. “I hope you got my bird.”

“Nice,” Bucky says and the odor grows heavy and he gags as he hits the sewer. As he does he scrambles to his feet, not only to get his head out of the muck, but also to search for Steve. He manages to get himself on his feet in the knee high sewage but Steve’s laying completely submerged, flailing and trying to right himself. Bucky rushes to his side and grabs hold of his hands. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

He hauls Steve upward and the Jedi goes quiet either out of pure terror or because he knows he’s found safety’s arms. Bucky hopes it is the latter. Redwing appears and tweets. He flutters away as Bucky brings Steve back into his arms. His blaster is lost, somewhere in the muck. He has a pistol and a few grenades and stingers left but that’s it. They are defenseless.

As he hurries after Redwing, Bucky glances down at Steve. The Jedi moans with low despondent noises. Steve paws at him in what Bucky can only equate to someone begging, beseeching for mercy. He says, “You’re free, Steve, I’m not him. He’s not here with you.”

He hopes it is enough, but he knows it isn’t. The nightmare isn’t over for Steve, but Bucky is determined to end it. As they round the corner and Bucky sights the opening to the outside; he trudges through the last of the muck. It falls like a brown waterfall into the riverbed below. Bucky hits his earbud as he sets Steve down. “We need an evac. I repeat, we need an evac. We can’t make it on our own. We won’t be able to get to the rendezvous point and I lost my weapon.”

“Understood. I called the Hawk already.”

He hates to put his partners in jeopardy, but he has to face the reality of the situation at the same time. Steve won’t make it to the rendezvous. Bucky cradles Steve in his arms against, the heavy muzzle clanking against his metal shoulder. It’s only a short leap to the riverbed, and he takes it with pause. The landing is rough, but he makes it without dropping Steve. The water washes over them and he gently rinses both of them off as they move to the shore. The cold stream is up to his waist and as the cool water hits Steve he judders and claws at Bucky. It rips away at Bucky’s resolve, seeing Steve so broken and fragmented. He tries to stay focused on the task at hand, getting through the water, ensuring that Steve survives, wading to the shore. 

Scanning the skies, he tries to glimpse how the outside battle progressed, but he cannot catch a clue as the fortress looms to one side and the rocky slope up to the wooded area covers the rest. The river drains toward the rendezvous point, so he heads in that direction. Redwing speeds ahead of them, chirping and looping downward. Bucky’s sure the bird is on the lookout for Sam. The two are inseparable like Bucky and Steve used to be, before he lost Steve, before this damnable year passed. 

With dogged determination, Bucky clutches Steve even closer if that’s even possible. He pushes through the currents and checks again for pursuit. There is none. Falling into crap might not be fun but at least it stops the enemy in their tracks. As he glances behind them, the fortress suffers from the damages to the pillars below and it quakes. He hurries his steps along, even against the current as it gets heavier. The water churns around him and Steve shakes from the cold. He’s very nearly naked, only a torn clothe over his groin. He tries to keep Steve from falling into the water, but his strength sags and he curses. Where’s Sam, where’s Clint? 

He slogs through the water, all the time peering behind him waiting to find the coming troopers to take them out. But no one comes because the fortress behind him convulses as if it has been hit by a torpedo. It begins to lean; the right side of it going down in a slow slide toward the river. 

“Shit,” Bucky says and turns from the collapsing side of the building and heads toward the shore. Even as he tries to clamber up the muddy rocks, his footing slips and he pitches forward, dropping his precious bundle and tumbling into the current. He tries not to release his hold on Steve but the water gets heavier and more forceful. The water isn’t deep but it is perilous and the current sweeps them under. He thrashes at the waves, searching for Steve. As he breaks the surface again the side of the fortress quakes and then slides into the water. Seeking any sight of Steve, he spots him not far off as the current drags him away. He launches himself toward the Jedi as he lashes in the waters. His movements are reactionary and not precise, not measured. Yet, even as Bucky’s fear throbs a beat hard in his chest the idea that Steve’s fighting, struggling to live gives Bucky a sparkling of that hope left. 

He dives for Steve and grappling to get a hold of the Jedi but cannot grasp a handhold. He curses but happens to catch a hand on the metal cage of his muzzle. He hauls Steve close and immediately cups him to his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay. If Clint will ever get here.”

“Just around the corner. You two done taking a dip?” 

Gurgling as the water rushes over his head, Bucky can’t respond, but he hauls Steve toward him and manages to get an arm wrapped around him. Steve clings to him, holding on while his moans becomes more like partial, though muffled words. Bucky gets them to dry ground, but just barely as Steve fumbles and flails against the rocks. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bucky says and wishes to hell and back that Steve understood the words, that he recognized that his friend was speaking to him. How far and how deep under the torture could Steve be? He’s a Jedi – or at least an apprentice learning to be a Jedi. 

He situates Steve onto the bank of the river and checks out the opposite side. The fortress partially collapsed into the one side and there are troopers starting to emerge. The air defense has picked up but he doesn’t spot Sam anywhere. Fighters zoom through the air – they remind him of the tie-fighters of old but the design differs in that the central cockpit or pod isn’t a hexagonal rounded shape but more oval like an egg and it looks like its hinged, and can swing and rotate on an axis. What it means is that Steve and Bucky are sitting ducks out on the uncovered riverbank. He either has to pick Steve up again and dash to the woods for cover or hope that Clint isn’t over estimating his time to pick up.

Deciding that he needs a better view, he starts to stand up but Steve scuttles after him. The sounds he makes are closer to words but not formed due to the rod in his mouth preventing him from speaking. 

“It’s okay, I just have to see-.” A tie-fighter spots them and it zeroes its flight pattern toward them. “Shit. Shit.” He taps on the ear bud again and thanks all the ancient Jedi that it didn’t drop out of his ear in the water. “Clint, we are under attack.”

“Well, join the club,” Clint says. “Can you get to the plateau above the river bank? I can’t set down but I could throw you a line.”

“Negative that,” Bucky says as he grips Steve by the arm and forcibly gets him to his damaged feet. “Steve won’t be able to climb a ladder.” 

Steve can barely walk with his wounded feet and the weight of the cage around his head. Instead he chooses to go down on his hands and knees to crawl after Bucky, using Bucky’s one hand on his shoulder as a guide. 

“You’ll have to set down,” Bucky says as he scans the skies and the tie-fighter aims at them. Seizing Steve under his arm, Bucky brings him to his feet and drags him to the tree line. The tie-fighter veers low to the ground, letting off a volley of fire that breaks apart the rocks and sends stony shrapnel flying. Steve stumbles as he limps and then trips, falling to the ground in a sprawl. Bucky leaps over him, protecting what he can with his own body. This is how it was when they were children, Bucky protecting Steve always. As a Jedi though, Steve grew in strength and he also sprouted from a scrawny kid to a well-muscled, disciplined Jedi Padawan. Bucky would give his life for Steve regardless if he’s that scrawny kid, the Jedi in training, or the tortured soul under him now.

“No need, I’m coming in,” Sam says over the communications. 

As the tie fighter comes in for a second pass, Bucky clamors to his feet and then yanks Steve to follow. Steve can barely hold up his head, the weight of the cage is a burden and his strength is minuscule. They mount the ridge toward the tree line. The exposure isn’t good, but it does allow Bucky to see Hawkeye bringing in the ship and Sam flying toward them with Redwing circling. 

Clint loops the ship low toward the plateau but it’s rocked by a barrage of fire from oncoming tie-fighters. He spins the ship to avoid too many impacts and then manages to fly straight toward them. The bottom hatch of the ship opens and a ladder automatically descends. This is Bucky’s way out, but he has to wait for Sam to pick up Steve. In seconds Sam flies to the ground, jogging a few feet as he lands. As he sees Steve, his expression turns from concerned to horrified. He knows they don’t have time, so he doesn’t ask any questions. The tie-fighters fire at them; the bolts chewing up the rocks and spitting the shrapnel all around, nearly blinding them in the debris.

“Go,” Sam says as he grabs for Steve. “I’ve got this – go.” He holds Steve around the waist even as the Jedi flails and screams out a muted cry when Bucky leaves. Bucky closes down his emotions, now is not the time. 

Bucky rushes to the ladder as Clint fights to keep the ship stable in the air. He leaps to the ladder as it hovers a few meters from the ground. As he catches it with his metal hand the tie-fighter attacks again. The ship sways and even as Bucky turns to ensure that Sam got off the ground with Steve. He almost loses his grip of the ladder and then the tie-fighters come in with deathly intent, targeting not the ship but Bucky. It takes all of his strength to hold on and he shifts his entire focus to getting up the ladder. He has to trust in Sam. Clinging to the cables of the ladder, he’s able to make a few steps up as Clint streaks up into the sky with the tie-fighters tight on his tail. 

Bucky hugs the cables close but the tie-fighters strike and fire. The first bolt hits his flesh arm and he cries out, but then clenches his teeth in order to muffle his own pain. The second bolt hits the ladder just above where he’s holding onto it with his metal hand. It frays and snaps, leaving only the other cable to stabilize the ladder. He grabs for the slat and then struggles through the pain of his right shoulder, trying to ignore it as he scrambles up the ladder. Even with two good arms with the ship in transit and tie-fighters firing at him, mounting difficulty would test him. This – without his one flesh hand – is almost impossible.

Again the tie-fighters target him and he only just clears another bolt as he gets up the ladder. Finally, the ladder starts to automatically retract, dragging him into the ship and to safety. Above him he sees Sam kneeling at the hatch and he hauls Bucky clear before slamming his palm on the switch to close it. Sam yells, “Get us out of here!”

“He’s clear?” 

Bucky lies on the floor, panting and hearing the echo of their conversation in the ear bud as well. The pain in his shoulder throbs but he ignores it and forces himself to sit up. Sam considers him, his eyes motes of worry. 

“Where is he?”

“In the back, got him on the bed. He’s not good, Buck.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

“Sorry to break up the re-union of you gals, but we got some issues here.”

They both jump up and go to the fighter pods of the ship. He jumps to the pod as Sam hits the other one. Bucky wishes he could go and check on Steve but they have no time. The ship rocks under the heavy fire and Bucky straps into the seat. With one arm in agony, it will take all of his skill to help out. But he doesn’t complain – how can he when Steve is in such dire straits? 

He tests the gunners and then switches on the targeting computer. He checks the controls for the activator and then tests the firing grip. Once he has his bearings, he locks in and starts to fire as Clint rockets the ship toward open space. The ship rolls and spins as Clint tries his best to avoid the continuing spray of laser bolts. It takes skill to fly like he does. It’s often been said he’s the best Corellian pilot since Han Solo, though their ship is below the Corellian class. The dizzying spin of the ship though makes it a little difficult to focus and to aim, but the targeting computer chirps and Bucky grips and fires. Hot pain shoots up his arm but he ignores it as he sees his aim is true. He whoops as Sam hits another one. A swarm still covers their tail and Clint races the ship toward open space and lightspeed. 

“Hurry up, hurry up!” Bucky yells and picks off another two ships as he watches the explosions from Sam’s blasts. But the fighters replenish as quickly as they knock them out. “We can’t keep it up forever.”

“Here we go!” Clint cries out and the whole ship lurches forward into hyperdrive. Bucky sags in his chair for a moment, knowing he doesn’t have any time. He needs to go and check on Steve.

Ripping the headphones off as well as the earbud he tosses them aside and then gets his aching butt out of the chair. He climbs up the ladder, only wincing once. Sam waits for him. “You need to get that checked, you want me to clean it up?”

Bucky nods. “But later, I want to check on Steve.” 

Sam understands, they are all family. Both of them go to the medical bay and find Clint sitting on the edge of the bed speaking softly. He’s managed to use industrial clippers to snap away the front of the cage as well as the eye caps. Steve glances around but squints as his eyes water.

Sam taps the lights to dim them. 

“Glad to have you back, Jedi,” Clint says and clasps his hand. “You’re going to be fine now.”

Steve doesn’t look like he understands him and he cannot speak because the bar is still across his mouth. He heaves in a wet breath and then the tears from his eyes flood down his cheeks. Both Clint and Sam move away as Steve reaches out to Bucky. Settling next to Steve, Bucky gathers him in his arms. 

“You’re safe, you’re safe now.”

Steve only shakes his head. 

He comforts him and looks to see Sam with Redwing and Clint to the side, silently watching over them, sentinels against the darkness.


	11. No Place to Call Home (Prostitute Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a partial reconstruction of a story where Steve is a prostitute in NYC that Tony (pre-IM) picks up one night. It isn't as simple as all that though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately the first chapter of this story has been lost. The second chapter is missing as well. So in summary the first chapter Tony found a hooker, said hooker brought Tony back to his place. They had a night together (hot smut), and then as Tony lies on the bed spent he happens to look over to the side table and sees a photograph with the Peggy Carter in it....and suddenly Tony wonders if the long dead Captain America is now in modern day NYC and a hooker. I can't recall the second chapter at all. Sorry - this is all I have.

Like any problem, Tony cannot leave it alone. He works on the question even when he shouldn't be teasing at it. When his head should be figuring out the latest propulsion issue of the Jericho missiles, Tony finds himself returning to the feel of Steve under him. He relives the moments of desire but also the long whispers of confusion. The last time he saw Steve after the man got down on his knees and sucked Tony off with those pretty full lips, the secret beckoned. They'd been sitting having a bottle of cheap beer in the hovel of an apartment Steve lived in and shared with him when Tony paid him a good sum of money. Tony glanced around and thought about all that money he'd been offering to Steve for his services.

"You don't get a lot of clients?" Tony asked because where was the money going if not for living expenses. From what Tony saw the man with Steve Rogers' face didn't seem to have a drug habit.

He'd shrugged, tipped the bottle to his mouth, took a long hard swig, swallowed and then said, "I get what I can. Gotta be careful that they don’t find out."

This revelation stopped Tony in his tracks and he asked, "Who? I thought you were a free agent."

Steve chuckled but it wasn't one of his alluring laughs. This one sounded harsh, used, even pained.

The thought of losing these afternoons and nights with Steve jolted like a hot stab wound to the belly. Tony placed his empty bottle on the table next to the mysterious photograph of a distant past. "Who? Who wouldn't let me see you?"

Steve only half smiled as the despondency shifted over his face. It disappeared as quickly as it came and he slipped out of Tony’s arms, went to the bottom of the bed and began slowly working his way up Tony's body. His tongue elicited a masterpiece of sensations.

Even later when Tony tried to grill him about it, Steve stayed mum and even glared at him with a threat in his eyes. So now instead of working on his propulsion problem, Tony sits and stares at the holographic displays of Captain America. The data is so clean, so perfectly clean. He's dead. Went into the ocean almost 70 years ago.

None of it makes any sense. Captain America shouldn't be alive and he shouldn't be turning tricks to survive. Just the thought of Steve servicing other men or women turns his stomach. He flashes through the data as it streams around him in his workshop. Nothing hints at a reasonable explanation. Just as he's about to query JARVIS for more data on the crash that supposedly killed the red, white, and blue clad hero, Obie interrupts him.

"Tones, my boy, how's the work on the Jericho going?"

Tony sweeps his hands aside and the images of Captain America disappear in favor of the propulsion systems on the weapon in question. He feels like a three year old caught red handed trying to feed his spinach to the dog. "Good as ever."

Obie, who is hanging near the doorway to the workshop, pops into the vast laboratory space that Tony designed in the 5th Avenue mansion. It's in the basement and it leads into the huge garage with Tony's collection of antique cars.

"Tell me, Tony, you're taking this project seriously. We need those propulsion systems up and running at the quarterly eval for the COTR. We go into that meeting with the DOD and they are going to be fuming if they don't see progress."

"I always come through Obie, you know that." For some reason when Obie slings his arm around his shoulders, all Tony wants to do is shrug it off. Not able to without evoking a full-fledged interrogation from Obie, he withstands it and suppresses the shiver of revulsion.

Thankfully Obie releases him, takes a step away and spins around. He gestures to the lab space. "What are we doing here? This is old school."

Tony frowns. "Old school? I'll have you know I updated dear old dad's complete lab. Everything here is state of the art."

Obie scoffs and points to DUM-E. "That is state of the art?" He bows his head, shakes it as if he's lost confidence in Tony and then looks up to him and says, "You disappoint me.” Tony hates that it matters to him what the man thinks. “What are you doing, boy? Why aren't you in California? We need you at the R & D division. Hiding here? That's not good for anyone, especially your investors or the Board."

The thought of being around all those scurrying ants in the R & D division frustrates him and he can only huff in response. "I can work here as easily as I can work across the country. Don't be a twat."

Obie chuckles. "Rhodes is coming in this weekend. He'll drive some sense into you. What is it, Tony? A hot crotch got you all wrapped up in ribbons?"

Tony feels the heat burn his face and his temples warm. Obie knows him too well.

"Christ, it's your dick. You're staying here for a hot piece of ass." Obie swears again before adding, "I don't care where you put your prick, Tony, but you have fucking responsibilities." He stops to visibly hold back his tirade. Inhaling and then expelling it, Obie says, "You gotta know I have your best interests at heart. Come back to California. Bring the hot piece of ass with you. I don't care. Just get on track, my boy."

Tony recognizes that even when Obie acts like a dick, he still has Tony's best interests at heart more so than his father ever did. He owes a lot to Obie and he needs to heed his warnings. The Board of Directors want this new weapons system to fly like a bird and sing the Generals and Admirals on the Joint Chiefs of Staff to sleep. It isn't even a difficult problem to solve and Tony can't put his finger on why it all bothers him.

"Don't worry Obie, it's just a bit of fun. It's just something to distract me so I can refresh, you know let the subconscious work on the problem." He taps his temple and smirks.

Raising an eyebrow, Obie replies, "Just don't let that great piece of ass distract you too much. You need to be out in Malibu next week for the Directors’ meeting. They want to see you, the wonder boy, not me."

"Not a boy anymore."

"No, you're not and you should take running your company that much more seriously."

After that slight, Obie slaps him on the back, gives him a list of need to do operations for the weapons research, and then shows himself out. Tony glares at the door to the lab space. The empty hallway to the upstairs is just a blot of darkness. He turns back to the screens, to his interface and throws up his hands to access the information on Captain America. It's everything in the public records.

Nothing shows him why or how Captain America survived, nor why he ended up in a flea bitten apartment with little to no support system and an occupation as a prostitute. “Well, something has to give.” Tony needs to find out what else is known by the government on Captain America’s disappearance. A little snooping never hurt anyone. But he needs to know where to snoop. There’s only one person who might be able to give him more information. 

He really doesn’t want to go that route – because how embarrassing is it to think that he’s been fucking a lost love of someone else? All other leads have dried up and, if Tony is serious about his hunch, then he needs to ask that one person for more information. Much of what is known about Captain America has been turned into myth and fictional accounts. But Aunt Peggy may know more than the basics about a scrawny assed kid and a dream to be a good man and help save the world. What's legally obtained from open sources offers little details. The only lead he has is Aunt Peggy.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes sir?"

"Get the jet ready, we need to go to DC. There's someone special I need to see."

He arranges a short trip to DC and keeps Obie off his tail by promising to meet with some higher ups at the Pentagon. Nothing goes well there. But he gets flack for his lack of progress on the Jericho. He takes it all in his usual careless fashion all the while sneaking peeks at this phone. He has a short window to visit Aunt Peggy. He needs to be back to New York by nine tonight. He bought the whole night again with Steve.

Before he's finally released from the tirade of Generals, Admirals, Colonels, and Captains yelling at him and demanding impossible deadlines, he salutes them and begins to leave. Pym, Hank Pym of all people stops him. Pym had been one of his father's fierce competitors and enemies. Why or how Pym is roaming the halls of the most secure site on Earth is a mystery for another day.

"You got a minute, Anthony?"

Tony frowns. Dealing with the dead and their ghosts is one thing, handling the ancient living devils is quite a different story.

He tugs his sleeve from Pym's grasp. "Not really I have to see an old friend."

"I need to ask you or rather, tell you," Pym says and glances at the dissembling of the meeting. His gaze drifts over to Stane, his expression twisting. He steps away when Obie peers over at them. He gives a short wave and says. "Good luck, son."

It gives Tony the creeps. Eventually he finds his way out of the pentagon. The moment with Pym bothers him like an annoying gnat. He's not sure what to make of the old man. Howard and Hank never saw eye to eye. They hated one another and Pym always accused Howard of trying to control his inventions and discoveries. Pym had been booted out of the inner defense circle, turning bitter. But once Howard died he'd been invited back in, though now that Tony encountered him, he thinks it hasn't done the man any good.

It takes him a good hour to get over to Foggy Bottom and weave his way through traffic to his destination. When he parks the car and heads towards the brownstone nestled between two others that seem nondescript in comparison, it is nearly 5 pm. He's never going to make it back to NY on time to see Steve. Pausing before he walks up the wisteria lined path, he brings out his phone and sends a text to Steve. It's the only way he's ever been able to get in touch with the man. It took Tony some finagling to get the hooker to give him any contact information.

After a heady weekend in Steve’s cramped studio apartment, Tony dressed and asked one more time for contact information. He straightened his tie as he looked down on Steve; he lie debauched and filthy in the too tiny bed. Tony didn't fail to notice how the marks upon his body faded away - nearly gone when they should have stayed for days and days. Somehow that hurt Tony. "Give me something. I hate trolling around looking for you."

Steve threw his arms over his head, closed his eyes, and sighed. "We're not dating, darling. Don't go there."

He had muffled his initial response of 'we could be' and just said, "I'll make it worth your while."

"Not really," Steve had mumbled and Tony's face must have said it all. Steve leaned up on one elbow and added, "Don't make it weird. I can't have entanglements. That's not how this works."

As he slid off the bed all grace and muscles Tony found it hard to breathe. Like a big cat, his muscles and sinews undulating Steve came to Tony's side and nuzzled near his ear.

"Come on, don't be like that. I like spending time with you."

Tony had tried not to let it set off the fire, the need, the want but he failed. "I just want to be able to contact you. That's all." His voice sounded like a small mewl.

Steve licked and nibbled; his own rock hard cock pressed up against Tony's belly. Even after a whole night satisfying his own cravings Tony found it hard not to want more. His tired, spent dick twitched in response.

"Things you shouldn't do. They find out. I can't see you anymore. "

Tony wanted to know who, who kept this Adonis, this paragon or doppelgänger of Captain American on a leash, tied to being a hooker on the mean streets of New York.

"Please." Tony had only managed the sweet begging gasp before Steve dropped to his knees and pulled away the zipped pants and boxers to wrap those magnificent lips around his half hard cock. His knees nearly gave out, his mouth went dry, and he threw his head back as Steve braced him to suck him off. It was too much and not enough. He wanted to know about this god at his feet, kneeling and supplicating before him. But he had let the emotions of the moment take over him and he pounded like a fiend into that perfect mouth, not thinking he'd be able to get off but his orgasm surprised him, overtaking him in seconds and he flooded Steve’s mouth for the second time in as many hours.

It shouldn't have felt as good as it did. Even a tinge of shame couldn't stop Tony from basking in the warmth, the spread of completion as he grunted out his release. And then he felt as well as heard Steve groan around him as he jerked himself off with Tony in his mouth and a hand on his own erection. It felt filthy and lovely at the same time

After as they came back to themselves Tony looked down at Steve, his lips bright and bruised, his cheeks high with color, and he stroked a hand down his face. Gently. Softly. "Tell me."

The sadness, the distance returned and Steve only half smiled. He opened his mouth, releasing Tony’s softening cock with a quick kiss. "You want me to be more than I am but there's nothing else, darling."

Tony caressed his cheek, looked at the sketches pinned to the walls. The beautiful self-made art and knew there was so much more. He wanted it all.

 

He only nodded and swallowed down his disappointment. Steve sighed again and climbed to his feet. "Hey." He scribbled something on the corner of a page in a sketch pad. "No calls. Text only. Not often."

Tony admits now that the flush of success warmed his chest more than he should have allowed.

Staring at his phone, Tony considers his words. Usually he's just writes a date and time. Now he has to ask to change the time. Later. It should be easier; it's not that big of a deal. He grumbles and writes a quick note. He ends it with a sweet epithet and then pushes the phone back in his pocket. Heading up the stone steps to the DC brownstone, he tries not to wait for the chime that tells him Steve received, acknowledged, and agrees to his text.

Instead he knocks on the door and a young blonde woman answers. She smiles and says, "She's expecting you."

He'd called ahead but never elaborated on the urgency of his visit. He steps inside once Sharon waves him through the threshold. He’s surprised to see her here; he'd thought she had a government job.

"She's in the living room doing some correspondence."

"She's good today?"

"Better than most days."

"May I see her?" Something trembles in his voice. Is it fear or shame?

"Sure, she's waiting for you. I had tea and cookies served. Aunt Peggy was never proper but she likes things done right." Sharon giggles and he can do nothing but agree with her.

Sharon escorts him to the back living room as she explains, "Her daughter wants to move her back to London. She doesn't want to go, but there's not much I can do to stop it. Considering my work schedule, I can’t really stop it any longer."

Tony tries not to think about losing this one strong and fierce link. Aunt Peggy has always been the bedrock of his foundation. When he enters the living room she's sitting at an ancient roll top desk but instead of letters on paper there's a small laptop blinking with its blue light.

As soon as Aunt Peggy sees him she raises her hands in a welcoming hug, and smiles. "My dear Tony."

"Aunt Peggy," he says and crossed the distance between them. He leans down, she embraces and kisses him. It feels like acceptance and home. He feels shame.

"Come tell me; what's the squirrel that's nattering about in your head?"

He laughs and then settles next to her in a straight backed chair. "You always could see right through me."

"Tell me, dear, I'm getting too old and not as bright as I used to be." She smiles and there's something lonely in her eyes.

He swallows down his concern and says, "How - can you tell me about Steve? I mean Captain America?"

"Oh you know all about him already, dear." She looks away. Her hand quakes as she goes to close the laptop. "Everything that's fit to print."

"What's not fit?" He can't believe he is asking her this. It doesn't seem possible. Does he ask if Steve Rogers was a known sex worker back in the day? Would she even know something like that? Maybe he’s a clone? 

She’s right – there are squirrels packing his head with nuts.

"Steve was a good man. And he was lost to us, to your father, to me." She pauses to gaze at him. "But that's not what you want to know. What you want to know is something I cannot say. You need to look deeper, farther. Perhaps even more than Howard did. Because Howard searched, he searched for something they wanted."

Tony knows this but it sounds more ominous than it had before when he was a child. "Who?"

"The SSR did not disappear. It evolved and there were people within it with their agendas. Howard, Hank they all had their agendas but then it changes. Doesn't it? They wanted him. And they -." She stops

"Did they find him?"

She stops and taps the laptop. "They're moving me to London. Perhaps you can take some of my things and store them for me?"

He doesn't know how to answer but he quickly agrees. She waves at him. "Take it then." Hesitating only a second, Tony reaches out to take the laptop and Aunt Peggy grasps his hand with surprising strength. Her words are cryptic and startling. “He deserved so much more.”

He gasps a little and, for one horrifying moment, he thinks she knows that Captain America is turning tricks to survive. Yet, he knows that she would never leave him, never allow him to fall so far from grace if she knew. It has to be – “You believe he could have survived? That he -.”

“I believe he should have been found.” She lowers her gaze. “At one time, we gave up and thought we would leave him to his grave. But there were those who never would, because Steve had something they desired. And some desires make men wicked.”

Desires. 

He loses his breath and after that, he’s not sure what happens. He finds himself back in his car on the way to the airport, his hands clutching the wheel as if he might explode into pieces. Do his desires make him wicked? Is he only after one thing? Is Obie right? Is everyone right?

The night stretches out and he gets to the airport with little time to spare. He’s going to be late and he waits for Steve to text him back. He half hopes he doesn’t – that would relieve Tony of his guilt. But when they land, there’s a text and it says to meet Steve at his studio apartment at eleven sharp. 

He doesn’t know if he’s blessed or cursed.

Getting across town and to Steve's rundown apartment takes more time than it should considering the hour. He trudges up the creaking wooden steps to Steve’s floor and looks at his phone. It's eleven ten. Sure any sex worker is on the streets right now, but he was supposed to be here by nine. That means he didn't buy the entire night. That means Steve probably had other clients. That thought curdles his hours-old dinner in his belly.

He steps up to the dented chipped door and knocks trying to settle his stomach. After a few minutes, the door across the hallway opens and a red head peeks out. She looks like a dream and he has no idea why someone with her classical beauty would end up in a place one door over from hell. She mutters something in what he thinks is Russian and then in broken English says, "Not home. Steve out for night."

For no real reason he raises his phone and shakes it. "Gotta text. Said to be here by eleven."

She smiles but it's haunted. "He show you good time?"

Tony feels the heat flush to his cheeks. He's saved from answering the young woman by a voice from the stairs. "You okay, Nat?"

Nat shifts her focus to Steve who steps up to the landing and joins them. "Yeah, okay."

Steve moves between Tony and Nat as if to block his view of the young woman. Steve whispers something to Nat, who can't be more than in twenty-two or twenty-three. She protests with a string of Russian but then he hears Steve say, "Is Clint home?"

She deflates and Tony catches her using sign language to answer.

Steve only shakes his head. "Stop being rude. I'll stop by tomorrow morning, okay?"

Nat pops up on her toes and eyes Tony with a look of disgust. But she offers Steve a quick peck on his cheek and then disappears back into her apartment. Steve waits a few moments before he turns to face Tony as if he has to put on his stage face.

His smile is strong and alluring when he turns to Tony. "Nice you could make it, darling. You look beat. How about a nice massage?" He sidles right up to Tony, his breath hot against Tony’s neck. “Let’s go inside. See what I can do for you, take away all the stress.”

It feels so rote, so practiced, that Tony hates it. But he allows Steve to lead him into the apartment, allows him to loosen his tie and begin to nuzzle against neck. Relaxing a degree, he inhales and catches the smell of musk and sex. It twists in his stomach like a burning barb.

Placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder, he pushes him away. “You stink.”

Steve opens his mouth as if he might respond but the words take their toll and he snaps his mouth shut. His eyes glint. His jaw muscle twitches and he nods. “I’m sorry. I’ll shower. I’ll give you a discount.”

He feels like a shit, like he’s just murdered a puppy. He only waves the awkwardness, the pain of shame, away. Steve steps away from him and goes to the small bathroom. When he opens the door, it hits the toilet. He has to step over the toilet to shut the door, which he does. In seconds, Tony hears the water in the shower and weighs whether or not he should leave. He scrubs his hands through his hair and imagines Steve washing away the filth of another man or woman touching him. He wonders who it might be; how many others. Then his mind judders to the red head across the hall.

Although she’s an adult, there was something desperate about her, something wounded that makes him think she’s younger than she looks. The way Steve talked to her, and about someone named Clint. 

“It’s as if he takes care of them,” Tony says and scans the single room. He glances at the door and imagines the woman across the hallway. The money.

He practically feels the ping ping ping of pieces falling – not into place exactly but coalescing into possibilities and potentials. The young woman across the hallway – Nat he called her – she’s not a customer. But she’s important to the puzzle. 

The shower shuts off and Tony jerks in response to the door opening and Steve stepping out, still dripping wet.

His eyes are distant. “Fuck or blow?”

He doesn’t know why he says it, but he does as he offers his hand. “Talk.”

“You didn’t pay to talk.”

“I haven’t actually paid at all.”

“Pay and fuck, that’s how this goes,” Steve says and his voice is gray like icy steel.

Tony crosses the room when Steve doesn’t take his hand. Even as Steve moves slightly away from him, he brushes past him and taps the wall near the pinned drawings. “Who did these?” He points to the three quarters profile of a woman with her face in her hand and her tender eyes gazing at the viewer. “Who is this? Your mother, Sarah?”

Steve startles but quickly hides it. “This is fuck or not. If there’s no fucking, you can go. I have to make some money tonight and it’s still young so if you’ll please get out-.”

“No,” Tony says and pulls out the wad of cash that’s been digging into his soul the whole day. He shows it to Steve, and then dumps it on the bed. He goes back to the drawings on the wall. “Who’s this? You? Pretty scrawny when you were a kid, huh?”

“I don’t know who he is, I bought them at the Goodwill,” Steve says and scoops up the cash. He sticks out his fist full of cash and offers it to Tony. “I don’t talk for a living. I fuck. Either fuck me or go.”

Tony seizes the cash and throws it to the floor. “I want to talk, I want to know you, I don’t want to fuck. I want to-.”

“I am not your boyfriend, I am a hooker, a prostitute, a sex worker. Do you get it?”

“But you could be so much more.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he wants to chew his words and swallow them back. He shakes his head, grasps his hands open and closed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” Steve says. He’s naked and still wet. “I get that you and people like you don’t understand what happens to people like me. That I’m doing this and I do it well and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Don’t tell me you dreamed of working in the sex industry when you were a little kid,” Tony says and tears the drawing of the young boy from the wall. “This little boy dreamed of being a hooker?”

For only a second, Steve pauses as he stares at the penciled drawing. “Don’t. Just don’t.” He takes the paper from Tony and adds, “Please leave.”

“Only if you really want me to,” Tony says and waits as Steve keeps his eyes to the floor. He closes the small distance between them – the gap feels like a chasm. But he fills it and touches Steve’s arm. “Do you want me to leave?”

With a soft release of breath, Steve says, “No.”

“Come,” Tony says and, with his hand grasping Steve’s, he leads him over to the bed. He guides Steve to sit down and stands over him. “I just want to know a little about you. Just a little. What you find comfortable.”

Steve screws up his lips for a moment as he considers Tony’s words. “In the end I’m just the guy who you pay to fuck, darling. I don’t have any other story to share.”

“Tell me about him,” Tony says and points to the sketch clutched in Steve’s hand.

Steve glances at the cash scattered on the floor and then back at the drawing. He licks his lips before he answers, “He just wanted to help people. He never felt helpless though lots of people considered him helpless, weak.”

“But he wasn’t, was he?” Tony says and he strokes his hand through Steve’s hair. 

“He tried not to be,” Steve says.

“Courageous against all odds,” Tony whispers and watches the glint of hope, of light, of remembrance in Steve’s eyes. 

“I don’t know about that.”

Tony leans down and, before he tastes and kisses, he murmurs, “I do.”

The kiss grows and while Steve has never told him kissing was off limits, he’d never welcomed it until now. Steve cups Tony’s head and they tumble over to the bed. But it isn’t Steve who takes command in the bed as he has in the past. Usually, he asks what Tony wants and gives what Tony needs. This time, it is Tony exploring and tasting and causing the shivering gasps. This time it is hot and sweet and lovely as Tony sucks Steve off as he feels the rise and shudder of Steve beneath him. This time Tony follows his heart’s desires.

Steve tries to stop him a few times, tries to ask, “What do you want me to do, darling?”

Tony only places a finger on his lips and indicates with a quiet shake of his head for Steve to remain silent. He does. Tony trails kisses up and down Steve’s chest, his modeled abdomen, and then to the fine tuff of hair next to his already rigid cock again. 

“You don’t, you don’t have to,” Steve whispers. His voice sounds edged, like he teeters on a precipice of want, desire, hope, and something else, something wanting and hungry.

“Oh, sweetheart, I do.” 

His hand caresses the thickness of Steve’s cock and the man trembles beneath him. It feels real, truthful, and throws Tony further deeper and deeper into some kind of love for this stranger, this sex worker, this mystery beneath him. He sweeps a finger over the head of Steve’s cock and he jerks in response. When Tony looks up at him, his eyes are focused on the ceiling, his hands are clenched in the thin sheets of the bed. This isn’t the sex worker beneath him, this is the man in the drawings – the scrawny man that turned into the god. Tony leans down and lightly brushes his lips against Steve’s navel, then drags his tongue downward until Steve’s hot and heavy in his mouth again. 

For a moment, Steve holds back but Tony encourages with a slight swallowing action that sends thrills through him. Steve reacts, groaning and flinging his hands out as if he’s frightened of touching Tony. But Tony catches a hand and places it on his head. And then all bets are off. Steve grips his hair, thuds into his mouth with a wild, unbridled need. He recalls Steve telling him his customers usually don’t care if Steve gets off. This night, for tonight, Tony is going to make up for that – for all the days and nights that Steve has been left empty and hopeless.

He doesn’t last long and the bittersweet flood of semen gushes into Tony’s mouth. He drinks it down and then kisses and tongues Steve’s balls. Steve tries to get up, tries to reciprocate, but Tony isn’t having any of that. He’s focused, driven – more so than he’s ever been on any problem or equation. He continues to kiss up to Steve’s mouth and shares the lingering taste with him. His hand finding Steve’s cock again – and unsurprisingly it’s hard, answering Tony’s ministrations. With some lube Tony finds in its usual place under the pillow, Tony begins to tease Steve. 

Steve tries to unburden Tony of his tie, his jacket, his clothes, but Tony stops him. He’s not getting off, not yet, not now. This is for Steve. He wants to show Steve that there’s more to him, there’s more to life, there’s someone who cares about his needs. A flash of the woman across the hall comes to his mind and he thinks – no, he knows that Steve takes care of her and the other one – Clint. For once, Tony is going to take care of Steve. 

Before long, Steve is helplessly humping into Tony’s hand. He begs Tony a little, asking him in tiny gasps to let him do the same for Tony. But Tony only shakes his head. He waits as Steve splays out before him, fucking into Tony’s hand and needy. He cries out his release and then Tony kisses him, deep and reckless – because there’s emotion there – too much and Tony’s not going to hide it. He’s always been a little too careless, too wild, too determined to get what he wants in any way he can. When Steve falls back on the mattress, weak and overcome, Tony tugs off his tie, throws down his jacket.

“Now, I am going to show you why I came here, why I come here.”

He makes love to Steve. He makes love to this mystery, this man who always gives to him. He knows he shouldn’t love a sex worker, a prostitute. Why would he? They don’t know one another – not really. But he wants to show Steve some kindness, and Tony could never deny his own feelings. Not really.

He wants Steve to be his, only his. And this is the way to do it. He’s breaking down walls and limits and he doesn’t care as he caresses and gives and enters Steve. As they come together in some shuddering embrace with Steve’s legs grappling around him and Tony clutching his arms. It’s more than he hoped for that night so many months ago when he picked up a hooker looking for a good time. He loses all sense of self and falls into Steve, fucking and pounding until they are both crying out, until he blanks as his vision whites out and his breath is stolen from his lungs. 

After, Steve curls around him and for a long moment, he thinks that Steve clings to him as someone who wishes for a dream and knows he cannot have it. 

“You can have me,” Tony says.

A rumble from the depth of Steve’s throat answers him.

“You can,” Tony says. “Tell me what you need. I have money. I have power. I can get you out of here.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Steve says and he kisses the crown of Tony’s head.

“It can. I can do a lot, I have a lot of money. I don’t know if you know who I am. But I have a lot of power. I can get you, and your friends out of here,” Tony says.

“You don’t even know me,” Steve says but his conviction sounds weak.

“Then let me hear about you, tell me something. Maybe about your mother?” That sounds like a safe subject.

Somehow Steve relents and he says, “She was a nurse. My dad died when I was very young. She died when I was eighteen. Seems like yesterday. But it was forever ago.”

“A nurse, huh?”

“Yeah, good thing, right? I was a sickly kid,” Steve says. “She always had to take care of me. My one friend, he hung out a lot at my bedside, reading and -.” He stops. “I’d do that for him now, if he’d let me.”

“Your friend is sick?”

“Yeah,” Steve says but he doesn’t look down at Tony. “Really sick. He’s a war veteran.”

That doesn’t jive with the idea of Steve being Captain America, but maybe it does. Maybe he knows some really old guy that’s sick. That would make sense. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you see him a lot?”

“Yeah, every day,” Steve says. “He lives across the hall.”

Maybe he’s the father of the young girl or her grandpa or something. But that doesn’t make sense either – she’s Russian – Tony got that one for sure. He wraps up the information and tucks it away. He needs to find out more, so he continues, “Your ma, she died when you were eighteen?”

“Yeah, didn’t know what I would do without her. But she got sick and it was pretty terrible.”

“Cancer?”

“No, tubercul-,” he coughs and then changes his answer. “She got an infectious disease from one of her patients. Couldn’t shake it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “But you drew her, do you draw her often? People you know often?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, I like to remember her.”

As they talk, Tony sees Steve relax like he’s never witnessed before. He’s careful with how he responds to Tony’s questions, but he shares. When he looks at Tony, meets his eyes, there’s a kindness and affection there that Tony only dreamed and wished for – but there’s always a wariness. They lay in one another’s arms and Tony thinks how the night lightens to dawn that he would pay for a day, a week, a year, or forever if it meant he felt like this always, accepted and at peace. 

“Ma always did what she had to do to get us through the rough times. I figure I can do the same, you know?”

Tony thinks _you don’t have to_ but he nods. It occurs to him, earlier in their encounter Tony called Steve’s mother by her name – Sarah – and Steve never denied it – never said it was her name or not. Steve the hooker’s mother’s name is Sarah. Just like Steve Rogers. Steve the hooker’s mother died when he was young, just eighteen. Steve the hooker’s mother died of an infectious disease – or TB – just like Steve Rogers. 

Steve Rogers.

There’s no denying it any longer.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, is a sex worker in 2008 New York City. 

CHAPTER 4  
Walking up the worn steps to the studio apartment always increases his pulse rate until it's nearly a din in his ears. Is it fear or excitement or a little bit of both? He swallows down the rising needs and knows part of the rapidity of his heart -so fast and heavy in his chest -comes from the thoughts of seeing Steve. He hasn't seen him in over two weeks. It's been a long, hot couple of weeks and he's blamed it on the heat as August settles over the city, but he knows he's lying to himself. The scorching heat inside grows and boils his blood because the idea of having Steve, touching Steve, being with Steve overwhelms him.

Something changed the last time he visited Steve. After he asked about Steve, after he cared for Steve and showed him what a loving relationship could be, things softened between them. Steve wasn't as standoffish. He smiled more, he only rolled his eyes and grinned when Tony asked him to come away with him.

"Come on," he'd said as he dragged his hand down Steve's come splattered chest. "Come away with me."

"We're going on a romantic getaway?" Steve had asked. 

Next to the bed on the small table that usually held the faded photograph of the Howling commandos, Steve’s discarded sketch book lay. He'd spent a good hour of their night together sketching as Tony slept on his lap. Tony thought of it as a win when he woke and saw Steve openly sketching and humming as Tony rested.

"Yes why not? We can get out of the heat, go to the mountains. Do you like mountains?" He admits now that he'd been overly enthusiastic when Steve didn't knock him down immediately.

"I've got responsibilities."

Tony ran his hand through their mixed come on Steve’s chest, writing words and pretending they would stay like tattoos.

"The people across the hall? Bring them. Or don't; I could send them money while you're gone." Tony knew he'd gone too far in his excitement that Steve hadn't shot him down.

Steve raised a brow at him, moved off the bed, and given him that quirky smile. "Sometimes it's not always about money, darling."

"You'd be surprised," Tony said and tried to catch Steve as he walked naked, like a god, around the bed.

"Not this time."

It was left like that open and possible, so Tony took it as a win.

But then horrible life got in the way. He ended up in California for two weeks and all he could think of was getting back to New York City. Stane noticed, and the results turned ugly when Obie's answer to 'fix' Tony had been to have a private dinner with some very high prices sex workers. The women had been beautiful, but Tony couldn't stomach it. He'd played the part brought the leggy blonde to his room in the hotel instead of his home.

He fucked her and had her leave early. He spent the rest of night hunched over the toilet bowl puking his guts out. With his eyes tearing and his body heaving, he recognized something true and clear. He wanted to have one person and only one person. Steve.

He spent the rest of the time in California spinning around in his head, feeling sick and excited at the same time. Obie laughed at him and tried to get him to paint the town again, but Tony refused. It was Pepper who smiled at him in his office at Stark Industries. As he stood staring out at the city beyond the industrial buildings Pepper stepped up to him and touched his arm.

"Tony, what's going on?"

"I don't know. I feel loose, as if I'm falling apart. I want to get back to New York." He said it as images of Steve reading to him came to mind. One time Steve had picked up an old paperback and read to Tony when he'd shown up with a migraine. Instead of charging him that time, Steve had taken care of him during the long night. It had been lovely and comforting and sweet. Something Tony cherished.

"Back to NY, you hate the East Coast."

The East Coast always brought him back to his father and the bad and good memories there. But now he can only think of one person, one need. "It's my home."

She smiled then and said, "You look like you're in love, Tony."

Maybe she was right. Maybe Tony was in love. With a hooker.

Christ.

Now, he trudges up the stairs thinking his life has gone to shit but at the same time knowing he's on the precipice of change. The winds buffet him and inexorably move him in a dangerous direction. He shouldn't be playing with fire in such a strongly precarious situation.

Right now he ignores all the alarms and warnings. But they are there. So blatant and glaring. A hooker. A man with the same history as Captain America, a man who just might be a resurrected Steve Rogers. The screaming of the alarms would terrify any sane person away from this path.

Tony might just not be sane.

He climbs the last of the stairs and walks over to Steve's door. He shouldn't be here in more ways than one. He never texted, he didn't set up a meeting. He just got in town and he wants to surprise Steve. He has a bag of bagels and a variety of cream cheeses. It's late morning and he figures Steve should be free and getting ready to sleep or already sleeping. He crosses to the door and, as he's about to knock, the door opens.

The man blocks his view of the shabby apartment, his long dark coat draping to the floor. His nose looks like it's been broken several times and old bruises mark his cheek, jaw, and eye on the left side. He grunts at Tony and tilts his head back to call into the tiny studio.

"Babe, you got another client today? Thought you had the rest of the day off?"

A voice answers but it doesn't sound like Steve at all. Pain laces his tone and he groans before he speaks he word. "Frank, tell 'em to go -- away." He moans.

Tony gets more alarmed when he detects the faints cry of pain. "What the fuck?"

Frank, the monster or prick as Tony thinks of him, puts a hand on Tony's chest to shove him out into the narrow hallway. "Don't think he's interest, John-boy."

"Fuck you, what did you do to him?"

Frank smirks and gazes back into the apartment for a long moment and something comes over his eyes and Tony can only call it hunger and rage at the same time. "Did what I paid to do."

Tony attempts to see over the bastard's shoulder and the monster grabs hold of him to drag him away from Steve. "Let go of me you god damn monster."

The beast seizes his collar and twists enough to cut Tony's air off. Somehow Tony manages to duck under the man's arm while tearing the back of his own shirt. He flails but gets loose from the goon. Scrambling he slides across the floor and rolls into Steve's apartment just slipping out of the goon's big paw.

He climbs to his feet and finds Steve leaping from the bed. He's naked. His body and face are bruised. His jump stumbles and he curls over his midsection, clamping a hand to obviously injured -probably cracked- ribs.

"Stop," he cries out and hisses as he fucking holds himself together. "Don't."

"He gonna bother you, babe?" The beast marches back into the studio. It feels crowded confined and not large enough to maneuver or get way from the man. "I can fucking get rid of him."

For a few minutes Tony cannot compute what the hell is going on because Steve's state transfixes him. Reds, blues, and blacks streak up and down Steve’s chiseled body while fingerprints encircle his throat. It looks like someone bashed his head against the wall at some point. His eyes are blood shot and stained from tears. His eyes rove across Steve to the nightstand where a wad of cash bigger than anything he’s thrown there sits. Before he can say a word, Frank’s massive paw grabs him again and he hauls Tony back to the door. Tony kicks but it falls short. It’s enough though because it throws the monster off balance and they both tumble to the floor. 

As he wrestles with the massive beast of a man, Tony recognizes he’s outmuscled and underpowered, but there’s nothing for it – he’s not leaving until he can get this goon out of Steve’s apartment. A fist to his face nearly lands, but Tony’s fast enough to avoid it; there’s some advantage to being the smaller one in a battle. He learned that at boarding school. He squirms under the oaf and knees upward trying to get his balls. A hand grasps the man’s shoulder and yanks. Even in his weakened state, Steve handles Tony’s attacker with ease.

“Castle, stop,” Steve says and tows him away from Tony. 

“He’s fucking with me.”

Tony clambers to his feet again, dusting away the imaginary dirt. “What the hell? Do you need me to call the police?”

Steve wipes away the blood from a re-opened scratch on his chest. “You have to be joking?” He walks to the small chest of drawers and retrieves a pair of boxer briefs. As he puts them on, he says, “Frank, you can leave. I’ll see you in a few weeks?”

Frank glowers at Tony but blows a kiss at Steve. “See you then, babe. I’ll bring the straps next time, be easier.”

“Sure thing.” Steve offers the guy a little salute as he blows a kiss. Before he leaves, Frank half-springs at Tony, but stops and laughs when he startles. 

“Take care, babe. Don’t like John-boy do you no good.” He walks out and Steve follows him to close the door. 

Someone must be out in the hallway because Steve stops and says, “It’s fine, all right.” He’s signing as he’s speaking. “Just a scuffle nothing to worry about. Go rest.” He pauses and bows his head. “You know I’d do anything – just don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, you know I will.” He waves and then moves to shut the door. When he turns to Tony, he slumps a little against the frame and snaps, “What the hell are you doing here? You don’t come unannounced to my home.”

“He did this to you, he did this to you and you’re angry with me?” His breathes come in short gasps. “Look what the fuck he did to you. Do you have broken ribs, shit, you have broken ribs.”

Steve clamps a hand over his side and gingerly picks his way over to the bed. Collapsing on it, he closes his eyes and says, “I needed the money. He pays good.”

“You needed the money?” Tony says. “I can fucking give you a god damned fortune-.”

“No, you can’t,” Steve says. “You can’t give me anything. Except for what you pay me. That’s it. You shouldn’t even be here. Please leave.”

“I am not leaving you like this, shit. No,” Tony says. “And I can give you anything you need, what do you need? Tell me what you need?” He tugs out his phone and punches in the code.

“No, you don’t get it, you just don’t get it,” Steve replies and forces himself back onto his feet. He wobbles a little and the bruise to his face looks like it is swollen and angry. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if he has a concussion. “Please leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t think you’re in any shape to make me leave.” He marches into the tiny bathroom. It’s so tight and cramped, he hates it. “You have a first aid kit or something.”

He hears the bed creak again and figures that Steve’s decided to lay back down – or maybe the injuries are more serious and he just fell down. “You okay out there?” He opens up the medicine cabinet to find toothpaste, a straight razor, and shaving cream. Not even a fucking aspirin. 

“Fine, fine.” He muffles the reply and Tony tries to hurry along – there’s really nothing in the tiny bathroom to help Steve. 

He grabs a few towels and thinks maybe some ice will help. Jumping the toilet to get out of the door, he goes back to the main room to find Steve lying on the bed with a hand over his ribs and the other exploring the swelling on his face. Tony bends down to the small dormitory sized refrigerator and find no ice cubes in the confined space. “No ice cubes.”  
He curses and then turns and looks over his shoulder. 

The neighbors. 

“Wait here,” he says and he dashes to the door.

“Good, good let yourself out,” Steve mutters as Tony opens the door.

“I’m coming back.”

“Don’t have to.”

Tony only growls in reply and crosses with two steps to the other apartment on the floor. He knocks and waits. He knocks again and waits. “Shit,” he says when he realizes maybe only the deaf guy is home. He gets to his knees and tries to peer under the door. It doesn’t work.

“What are you doing?” Steve says.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tony sees Steve hanging on the doorframe. He quakes and looks like he’s about to topple over onto the disgustingly dirty floor that Tony just has his cheek pressed to. “I’m trying to get the deaf guy to answer the door. How do you get him-.”

Steve grimaces as he shuffles over to the door and hits a small recessed button that’s haphazardly wired into the wall. He can see the flashes under the door. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Why do you-.”

The door opens and Tony’s on his knees in front of a guy with spiky hair, wearing two hearing aids, a purple t-shirt, pajama bottoms and a ratty looking bathrobe. He looks like someone ran him over last night and then came back to run him over a few more times this morning. 

He signs to Steve but he also speaks. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t ask me,” Steve says but doesn’t bother signing. Instead he just shrugs his shoulders and throws up his hands in surrender.

Taking it as a cue, Tony jumps to his feet and flicks his hands a few times. “I’m sorry I don’t know how to sign. I just- I wanted to know.” He looks back at Steve and says, “I wanted to know if you had any first aid supplies.”

The man grabs his jaw and turns Tony’s head toward him even as Tony bats at him. “Look at me. I can read lips but not when you’re looking the other way.”

“Oh, oh,” Tony says and then gestures at Steve. “Look at him.” He needs to face the guy again. “Sorry – I – he needs first aid. Do you have anything?”

The guy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “At least one of you is sane.” He waves for Tony to follow him. 

Tony resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Steve as he’s invited into the other apartment which is bigger and better furnished than Steve’s little hovel. Granted, the furnishings are anything but new, but there’s a couch and a cushioned chair positioned in front of an old tube television. A galley kitchen with an actual stove and oven (not just the hotplate Steve has) and a real sized refrigerator is tucked into one corner. The sink is small but still functional. There’s heavy drapes on the double window which are closed shielding the sun or something else. From Tony’s vantage point he counts four doors in the hallway. One has to be the bathroom, the others might be bedrooms. It’s much nicer than Steve’s studio though far from luxurious.

“Didn’t know this building had big apartments.” 

The guy doesn’t answer him because he’s headed toward what Tony surmises is the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. It’s Steve who’s still lagging behind him who answers, “It was an old brownstone. Other floors are just one flat except this floor.”

“Yeah you got a real deal,” Tony says to which Steve only frowns. Steve leaves then, just mopes back to his one room while Tony waits for the supplies.

The guy comes back with a boat load – he starts handing them to Tony. At first Tony tries to get him to set them on the table but that’s not happening and Tony concedes to just grabbing all of the boxes and bottles. After the guy finishes dumping the first aid into the cradle of Tony’s arms, he says, “Take good care of him. He deserves it. God knows, he takes care of our sorry asses.”

Tony knows he should just let well enough alone but he has to ask, “He takes care of all of you?”

“He tries. We’re a sorry bunch, considering. Been a hard few months. Wish it all had never happened.”

“What happened?” Tony says and tries not to hear the roar of his heart in his ears. 

The guy regards Tony with inquisitive eyes, eyes that see too much. “Let’s just say we all went through a war.”

“Clint?” That’s Steve calling from across the hall. He’s back at the door in seconds and glowering at the guy. “Clint, go rest. I’ll come by later with the meds and the groceries.”

Clint actually laughs. “You gonna get your sorry ass better before you worry about us. We can do without for a day.”

“You won’t,” Steve says and clutches Tony’s shoulder, steering him out of the apartment and back into his tiny room. 

Tony dumps all of the supplies at the foot of the bed, while Steve backs onto the bed, carefully and tentatively. Glancing at the door, Tony asks, “What’s going on here, really going on? Who is Clint and the redhead? What-.”

“You don’t need to know,” Steve says and winces as he moves. “You can go, I can take care of myself.”

“I thought we already crossed this divide. I thought we were getting somewhere.”

Steve laughs but then stops as he holds his mid-section. “Really, darling, we are not dating.”

“We could be,” Tony says and he doesn’t know why he lets it slip out. 

With a great sigh, Steve shakes his head. “You need to leave. You need to leave and not come back.”

“Listen, okay, I’m sorry. I know, I know what this is. You’re a sex worker. I get that – I just – I care about your welfare, okay?” Tony says and why does he have to defend himself for caring, for wanting this man to not suffer. “You don’t have to do this, you could have something more. I’m rich, powerful, I have friends in important places. You know who I am right, I’m To-.”

In a flash Steve is off the bed and has his hand over Tony’s mouth. His facial expression stricken, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t say it. You can’t say it. Ever. If they know then I can’t see you anymore. Do you get it?”

Tony nods and Steve slowly takes his hand away, though keeps it up cautioning him to keep his mouth shut. Tony only mouths, “Who?”

Steve tightens his lips and limps back to the bed. All the movement has eaten away at his energy and he drops on the bed like his limbs are made of lead. “Doesn’t matter. If they find out, I can’t – we can’t be here anymore.”

“Do they-.” Tony doesn’t ask again who they are. “Do they have this place bugged?” That wouldn’t make any sense because Steve speaks about _them_ to some degree with some freedom. 

“No, not that I know of, but Nat hasn’t swept it for bugs since yesterday.”

If Tony is right and this is Captain America, then someone powerful is hunting him – that’s what it sounds like. “Your friends across the hall – they were in the Army or something with you?”

“Something like that,” Steve says and eases down on the bed again. This time it doesn’t look like he’s ever getting up as he shudders through the pain.

Tony collects the first aid and sidles up to the side of the bed. “You’re hiding - from them?”

“Yeah,” he hisses as Tony starts to feel his ribs. “You let him do this so you can get a huge payoff?”

Steve closes his eyes and says, “He needs to work out a lot of aggression. He’s got some issues. He pays a lot. I need it for the doctors.”

“Doctors?” Tony says. That’s traceable – how far off the grid could they be if they need doctors. 

“My friends aren’t well,” Steve murmurs. He’s weaker than Tony thought. He looks up at Tony and his eyes are bleary with the pain. “After we escaped, I took care of them as best I could.”

“I’m sure you did,” Tony says as he tapes his ribs and cleans the cuts. But his mind circles around the word _escape_. “But you turn tricks to pay for the doctors?”

He’s fading fast. He nods. “Tried other things. In DC tried to get other types jobs but everything that depends on strength they covered. Nearly got caught that time. They’re everywhere.” 

“Everywhere,” Tony says and manages to put ice on the swelling on Steve’s cheekbone because Clint gave him a cold gel pack. He keeps his words low and his tone soothing as he asks, “Anyone helping you?”

“Yeah, Fury does, when he can. But they’re always watching Nick. He’s still on the inside, you know.” Steve hisses. “I need to stop talking, don’t I?” 

Tony only smiles. “You’re hurt, you need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Tony says. He finishes up the first aid and then Steve turns over and falls deeply asleep. Watching him, Tony analyses what he’s learned – escape, Nick Fury. Someone is after them and they haven’t gone to the police. What has Tony tumbled into that involves Captain America and a gang of sick people. Why are they sick? What happened to them? 

He cleans up the first aid and then tidies the apartment. He really isn’t the domestic type considering he’s used to being taken care of – he has a whole staff to do the little things he’s doing now, like fold up the extra blanket, wash the few dishes, clean the hot plate. As he collects the first aid kit, it dawns on him that he should bring it back to the guy – Clint – across the hall. The opportunity glares at him – it’s blinding. He takes it.

Grabbing it, Tony slips out the door. He’s quiet as not to wake up Steve. He presses the makeshift doorbell and waits as he sees the flashes under the door. It takes a while but Clint appears. He’s still in his pajama pants but the robe is gone. Tony lifts the first aid kit and says, “I brought them back.”

“Oh, great, thanks,” Clint says and takes the whole load from Tony. There’s a pause before Clint asks, “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, good. He’s gonna be fine.” Tony peers over his shoulder and the idea of Steve hurt and letting someone hurt him jabs into his chest like a hot poker. “Do you, do you know he lets that guy hurt him?”

When Tony turns back to Clint his head is bowed and he’s not even looking at Tony. He remembers then that he shouldn’t turn away from him. “Sorry, sorry, I-.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Clint says and touches his hearing aids. “I got it. Yeah, and I know.” He moves to the galley kitchen, and starts setting up the coffee pot. “You want some?” 

He hesitates but then agrees. He knows people, he knows how to work the room. This though, this is strange and real. “Sure.”

“There’s cereal or eggs,” Clint offers and then pulls down two mugs. They match, and Tony notices that the cupboard as a slew of matching dishes. Not like Steve’s apartment. 

It hits Tony – a realization. “Steve doesn’t live there, does he?”

Clint laughs and pours the coffee. “Sugar?”

“No,” Tony says and takes the mug from the counter after Clint finishes pouring it. He sips the coffee and cringes at the bitterness. “He lives here, doesn’t he? That’s where he brings his clients.”

“You’re a pretty smart fella, aren’t you?” Clint grins at him over the rim of his cup. 

“And the rest of you? You just live here on his-.” Tony can’t continue. It’s too hard to think of these people using Steve. 

That’s when Clint flinches and says, “Go ahead, I know what you’re thinking. We’re all sitting here and living off him selling his body. You’re not wrong. But you don’t have all the facts.”

“What are the facts?” Tony asks and he doesn’t give a shit if he’s prying or not tiptoeing around the truth that Steve Rogers sells his body to support a bunch of slackers. 

Clint chews on his lips and shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t tell you, but I’ll tell you this much, it eats on all of us every day that we can’t go out there. That we are literally stuck here.”

“It does, does it?” Tony doubts that, but there’s not a lot he knows about the whole situation so he sips the coffee and he probes a little more. “Would money help?”

Clint scoffs. “I wish. It’s more complicated. We can’t work because of what happened to us. He’s the only one who – let’s just say he’s the only one to go through it all unscathed. The rest of us – not so much.” He taps his hearing aids. “This is the least of my problems.”

“So you’re sick,” Tony says. “I have money, I could get the best doctors in the world.”

Clint slams his fist on the table and upsets a piles of books until they all slide to the floor. “No, it’s not about money. It’s about safety and the welfare of everyone – not just us. If we – God – if anything happens and they find us and finish the process. We’re all done for shit. You understand.” He drops the mug and the coffee splatters all over the floor. Staring at it, numb and frozen he opens his mouth and closes it several times. 

“Hey, hey, I can clean it up,” Tony says and wonders what kind of weird world he stepped into when he picked up a hooker on a street corner. But that’s when it happens, Clint drops to the floor and nearly hits his head on the edge of the table. He goes into a full blown seizure. “Christ, what? Help? Help?”

Is anyone else even home? Clint thrashes and kicks as the fit takes him and Tony clears away the table and pushes the cracked splinters of the mug out of the way. The red headed young woman races out of the one of the bedrooms and spots them. She curses in Russian and comes to Clint’s side.

Kneeling she says to Tony, “Move the table.”

He rams it with his shoulder to get it out of the way as she heaves Clint onto his side. Tony asks, “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, go to bath – find meds,” she says and looks a little more wild eyed than he would like considering she’s the person he’s depending on to help the guy he was just interrogating about Steve. 

He listens to directions because he’s at a loss of what else to do. He slams open the doors and finds the bathroom on the second try. It’s small but not cramped and tiny like Steve’s. Going to the medicine cabinet, he searches to find row upon row of medicine bottles. “What’s it called?” He’s not a pharmacist and he doesn’t have his phone out to query JARVIS right now. 

“Val-valium?”

“Valium?” That doesn’t sound like adequate seizure medication. But he finds the bottle, grabs it, and raises back to her. “What are you going to do? Put it under his tongue?”

“He is not having heart attack and this is not nitroglycerine.” She snaps but Clint has already stopped seizing and she only holds the bottle up to the light to check the number of pills. She curses. 

As Clint rests against her leg she mutters, “He doesn’t like to take. Makes him groggy. Won’t take and now look at him.” She wipes the drool from his lips tenderly. “Poor thing.”

While he doesn’t know a ton about medicine or seizures, he’s pretty sure that valium is old school and a crappy option for treatment. Tony only eats any words he wants to say, because what can he say? “Is he going to be okay?”

“Eventually, after I give him beating,” she says and smiles.

The whole sequence of events in the apartment across the hall unsettles Tony. He ends up helping Nat with Clint as the man groggily comes out of the episode. They get Clint to bed and while Tony would like to ask about the meds and doctors he decides against it. Steve might be a better avenue. Something happened. Something bad. To all of them. The pieces of the puzzle don't fit, not yet. He needs time to work on it. Since he's only just returned from California he suspects Stane won't be on his ass to get more upgrades to the Jericho. It's in beta tests now out in the Nevada desert. It will take time to get the reports. Tony's whole focus over the next few weeks will be to tease out as much as he can with Steve and his friends.

After, Tony sits with Steve as he sleeps. He works silently on his phone, querying JARVIS on matters concerning the whole sorted affair. He inputs all of the information he's gleaned from both Steve's babbling and from Clint. It will take some time but he knows he's onto something and he's not one to give up.

He sends Happy a note and tells him to go home; Tony plans on sticking it out until tomorrow or later. Who knows? He rests on the bed next to Steve as he sleeps. The bruises on his face already look a week old. His ribs are probably mending at an accelerated rate. He touches Steve, lightly and tenderly brushing back his hair and noting how very young he looks. He checks and sees that Steve Rogers went into the ice in his mid-twenties. Young. Strong. Naive.

He wonders what world Steve woke up to that led him here to this damaged life.

He cannot let it continue. Not like this. Eventually as he slumps against Steve, he falls asleep as well. His mind heavily wrapped around the issue. When the bed jerks in response to Steve rising Tony finds his way to wakefulness. He rubs at his eyes and scrubs his hands through his tangled hair.

"Hey."

Standing, Steve peels the tape off his ribs and glances over his shoulder at Tony. In a rare moment, Steve’s expression is naked and exposed. There's concern, distracted worry, anxiety, and, strangely enough, fear mixed on his features. He tries to cover but it doesn't work and his face crumples.

"Please don't darling."

"Please don't what?"

Steve tosses the gauze and tape. His ribs are a horrid color of blue and black. "Let's say I know a little more than you think I do about who you are. Let's say I know you’re smarter than my average John. Let's say that I get you're curious. Let's say all of that. But in the end it won't get you anywhere or me. Or us. If you out us, we're gone. We have to move on. I don't want to move from here. It's the best place for us to figure things out. We burned our bridges elsewhere. Please, darling, don't."

He wants to ask what bridges. He wants to beg and ask what the hell is going on in modern day New York City. He doesn't. Is he a coward? A fool? Or too much in love?

"I'd like to stay," Steve says. "This is what I do now. It helps us stay afloat but under the radar."

He wants to tell Steve he doesn't have to do this. But he can't. There are too many hidden corners and doors. Too many boogeymen waiting to jump out of corners.

"When I was growing up there was a lady who lived in the tenement across the street. You know, she didn't have much and she had a baby to feed. She did it." Steve doesn't elaborate on what _it_ is, but the again he doesn't have to. "The other women in the neighborhood shunned her, said things about her behind her back. Sometimes not behind her back. But not Ma. She would invite her over for Sunday dinner even though we didn't have much. They'd come and we'd all eat, talk, laugh. It was fun. It was something good. I didn't understand until I grew a little older. Until she was long gone with her baby. But Ma only saw her as someone who needed and wanted to help."

"I want to help."

"You can't."

“Let me do something,” Tony says because if he can’t help, if Steve doesn’t allow him to even try, he may implode. “Please. I care. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I care.” He doesn’t add _about you_.

Steve gazes at him for a long while before he moves across the space and encompasses Tony in his arms. He notches his chin atop Tony’s head and whispers, “I care, too. But you have to know. I want to keep seeing you, but if they find out.”

“They won’t.” Tony doesn’t ask who they are, again. Keeping silent eats at him, but he does because he wants to stay. Maybe he’s too selfish. “I want to be with you.” He doesn’t say as he run his fingers along the bruises peppering Steve’s torso and side that he doesn’t want anyone else to be with Steve. “I could give you the money. You don’t have to want for anything.”

“No, they’ll find you that way. I can’t have them hurt you, too.”

“Let me do something,” Tony says as Steve begins to kiss his way down Tony’s throat. He nibbles and suckles as he kisses. It makes him weak in the knees. His resolve fades. 

“Just be with me,” Steve says. He doesn’t ask for money – not this time. 

Steve takes him away, undresses both of them. 

Tony finds himself splayed out on the bed, open and wide as Steve tastes and licks along the cleft of his ass. He shivers and falls into that delicious space of need. It burns every one of his nerves and he cannot make a coherent sound as Steve’s tongue breaches him. He goes wild wanting to fuck and be fucked. Steve is right there – accommodating but just a furious with need. He thrusts into Tony with a fierce intent, his eyes open and watching at all times – until the very end when he throws his head back and spills into Tony – filling him, filling him up until he thinks he might burst. He cries out from the heat and the pressure and comes as Steve strokes him fast and hard. 

When he comes back to himself, Steve’s cleaning him up and then he tidies the room. He tucks away the money his previous client gave him and then smiles at Tony. 

“I can take the night off, if you want,” Steve says as he touches the bureau where he put the roll of money. “I got enough for now. We can get something to eat if you want, watch a movie.”

“You don’t have a television.” Tony lounges on the bed, spent and naked, but curiously happy. He feels like he’s in a domestic scene and that makes no sense at all. 

“I figure we can go across the hall. You know about them,” Steve says. “As long as we don’t disturb anyone we should be okay.”

“Yeah?”

Steve smiles but this time it is tender and sweet. “Yeah.”

And so it starts – a long stretch of weeks where Tony visits Steve on days he has ‘off’. They fuck, they watch television. They get take out. Tony tries to ignore the fact that Steve won’t take any money at all from him anymore. He tries to ignore the fact that sometimes a musky smell hangs on Steve. He tries to ignore the fact that there are fingerprints, bruises on Steve’s hips some days. He tries to ignore the fact that Steve’s friends are ill and getting worse as the days go by no matter how many times Steve sells himself and collects more money. He tries to ignore where all the money goes.

But he can’t.

He’s Tony Stark and he can’t leave well enough alone. Because none of it is well enough and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let whatever hell has surfaced on Earth continue. He makes promises to Steve not to interfere.

He breaks that promise.

CHAPTER 5  
Too many people claim the name Nick Fury in this world for it to be a useful lead. Yet with Tony's considerable resources and a spectacular AI, he hunts down a few leads. One is particularly intriguing. 

Years ago there had been an attack on an embassy in Bogota. The political ramifications echoed through the administration as the tensions over the kidnapping of high level government officials grew. How it ended had always been a question. The administration at the time thanked Canada for its assistance in rescuing and delivering the hostages to safety. The government of Bogota cried foul, saying there had been an attack on their soil and even petitioned the UN to investigate. It was quietly swept under the carpet but not before a name floated to the top of the news. A Nicolas Fury sanctioned an attack on foreign soil. The whole thing could have exploded but the Nick Fury they were looking for had died in a mysterious plane crash weeks before the hostage situation ever took place. It should have knocked Tony onto a different investigative path. Yet it niggled at him like a brain worm, like he kept hearing _'never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down'_ over and over again.

He settled in and examined the lead. It brought him here to 1437 Elmhurst Drive. A Clara Fury resides at the house next to a Jacob Beach. Tony walks up the flowered lined sidewalk to the small rowhouse in Baltimore. He knocks on the door clutching the paper work in his hand. The door opens and an older woman with kind eyes but a sharp gleam in them looks him over.

"You the boy who called me on the phone?"

He nods. "Yes ma'am."

She clicks her tongue a few times on the roof of her mouth. "Are you a cop?"

"No ma'am, just trying to find out about my friend." He clears his throat. "Like I said on the phone I could make it worth your time."

She narrows her chocolate brown eyes at him. They’re sharper than he would have guessed. “Not interested in your money. “She shrugs but does step aside to let him into the hot front room. There's a window air conditioning unit which isn't doing too much to cool the place. "You want some lemonade?"

"Yes ma'am that'd be nice." He really doesn't want any lemonade but he figures he should be open to it. He needs to make a good impression.

She leaves him in the front room which serves as the living room. The television is on and Ellen DeGeneres is throwing things around and scaring her latest guest. He ignores it, and instead walks over to the air conditioner. It's spitting out warm air. He bends down and looks at it. Sniffing as he does he can tell if it needs more Freon. It doesn't. Without a thought he pops the front off and starts fiddling with it. All the while he's sweating bullets. The place must be over 90 degrees. He checks out the motor after he turns it off and unplugs the thing.

"Now what are you doing to old Betsy?" She says and puts the glass on the table next to the one chair in the living room.

"You just got a dirty evaporator coil. I think I can jerry-rig it to work and then send over a new one with instructions on how to replace it." He pulls out the offending part, manages to wipe out the dirt with his shirt (as much as he can) and then wiggles it back in place.  
Turning on the unit, it immediately spews much cooler air. It should be colder but it will do in a pinch.

"You fixed old Betsy!" Mrs. Fury declares and hugs him tightly to her over abundant chest. He pats her back and then says _hey now_ to move away from her.

"Now what can I do for you?"

She gestures to a wooden chair that's propped in the corner. He unfolds it and sits down. He drinks the offered lemonade. He knows Pepper would say it's expected and he's damned hot. Fury offers him little sugar cookies which are store bought but still sweet on his tongue.

As he nibbles on the cookie he says, "I have a friend who might know your son?"

"My son?" Her face closes and he knows there's something unwilling about her reaction.

"My friend. He's in some trouble, nothing for you to worry about but he's ." He stops. He's not a spy. He doesn't know how to do this. He switches gears and, while he cannot tell the whole truth, he’s going to skirt really close to it. “Do you know who Captain America is?”

“Some,” she says and folds her hands on her lap, leaning forward, studying him.

“Well, as you know Captain America died nearly seventy years ago and all, but some of us, some of us wish he didn’t. Or at least think, he shouldn’t have died.”

“Son, you’re not making any sense,” Clara says. “Now why don’t you get to the part where you’re going to tell me what a dead World War two hero has to do with my dead son?” 

“Well, I think you know that your son’s not dead,” Tony states. “So if your son’s not dead who is to say that Captain America is dead?”

“That’s rich, son, that’s really rich. I’d throw you out on your ass right now, but you just fixed old Betsy and I’m worn tired and old from all the intrigue in my life,” she says and she gets up to walk over to the air conditioner. She turns up the fan until it’s deafening. She lets the air blow over her as she talks. “Here’s something you need to know, you can’t see my son’s dead body unless you get in touch with Agent Coulson. You talk to Coulson, you can visit my son’s grave. Coulson’s a good man. He’ll help you.”

“Coulson-.”

“Agent Coulson,” she says and then turns down the air conditioning unit again. “There’s nothing more to tell. Go and see his grave, my friend, maybe along with Captain America you can pay your respects to them.” She nods and he takes that as his signal to leave. 

She escorts him to the door and picks up some cookies along the way. She wraps them in a paper napkin and tucks them into the paperbag. Before she gives them to him, she tells him she’ll get him an extra napkin from the kitchen. She disappears and comes back only minutes later, handing him the bag. “For the road.”

He thanks her and soon she’s shoves him out of the door. He doesn’t think he’s ended up with any more information than when he started the day. He has two names and no way to find anything more about either. In fact one of the names – Coulson – there isn’t even a first name to go along with it. Unless, of course, the unlikely event is that Coulson’s first name is Agent and Tony sincerely doubts that. 

So what does he have? He heads down the block and goes to his parked Audi. He slips into the drives seat and closes the door. Putting his head on the steering wheel, he mutters. “I got nothing, I got goddamned cookies.” And the love of his life is a hooker who is probably Captain America. 

But why – who are Clint, Nat, and the other one – the one they all refer to as Bucky. He’s never seen Bucky, but he damned well knows from all the comic books he read as a child that Captain America’s childhood friend was named James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. None of that makes sense. Why are they too sick to do anything for themselves? Why does Steve feel as if he’s responsible for them but sells his body to pay for it? 

He drove all the way to Baltimore and the only thing he has to show for it – “Cookies.”

He curses and puts the car in gear. On the way home, he tells himself he’s a fool. He needs to figure out what’s up and soon. Obi called him and told him the Board of Directors are looking for a big splash – they want the Jericho field tested in Afghanistan. Tony’s not getting out of that one. He’s going to have to go overseas and leave Steve alone. 

What could happen? Nothing – he keeps telling himself. Nothing is going to happen. Steve is okay, he’s got things under control (if you call letting that Frank character beat the crap out of him every couple of weeks). He hates to think of other men or women touching Steve. He’s beginning to think in terms of being a couple with Steve, and not just a beneficial fuck relationship. He’s even dreamed of the future.

Once he talked about it. As Steve lowered himself onto Tony and then rocked in a slow, agonizing motion, Tony gulped for breath and dreamed out loud. 

“Oh doll, what you do to me,” Tony had rasped. His whole body and his whole mind felt alive when he was with Steve. He felt like he could conquer the world. Over him as Steve rolls his hips and Tony felt the tight coil of desire heighten, he saw more than just his world opening up; he saw the future. “We could be so good together, you and me.”

“Yeah,” Steve said and shuddered. Even a hooker liked it once in a while – Tony told himself these lies all the time. 

Tony allowed the moment to sweep him away and he talked about their life together. How they could live in luxury, how Steve would want for nothing, how they could be like this – hot, sweaty, and near the edge of paradise every day.

At that Steve only laughed, leaned down, and kissed Tony so thoroughly it stole his breath. He cupped Tony’s face in his hands and said, “Oh darling, the stories you tell me.” He rolled again, the feeling sending spikes of hot need through Tony. Steve placed his forehead against Tony’s and rocked, and rocked, and rocked. It moved them in such a way as to give Tony just enough stimulation to perch him on the edge of want, but not enough to tip him over it. 

“Please,” Tony had said and there was something more there. He knew he was pleading for something beyond his own release, he knew he was begging for them to have something beyond these walls. 

Steve sat up, and Tony went so deep that he came in a flood that surprised and shocked him. His vision whited out and he cried out for pity. When he came down from the height of his climax, Steve smiled at him. His cock stood, red and purple flush against his belly. As Tony softened inside of him, Steve took his own cock in hand and lazily stroked it. He stroked pre-come drizzled along the tip, and he flinched as he scraped his thumb nail over the slit. He took his own pre-come and he painted it on his lips, leaning down to let Tony taste it. 

Tony didn’t refuse. He licked the come off of Steve’s lips. Steve pulled away again, and with a sad smile, said, “That’s all you can have of me, darling. It’s better this way, safer.”

He clasped his erection again and worked it as sweat poured down across his chest, as he threw his head back and lost himself in the feeling. That’s when Tony understood it all. That’s when it came to him. 

Captain America – Steve Rogers – became a hooker, a sex worker in New York City due to a number of reasons. But underneath those reasons stood out the one thing, the most important reason of all. Being a hooker was the one thing he could do to forget and lose himself. He couldn’t get drunk, everyone knew that. That also meant he couldn’t do drugs. He might use the excuse of needing the money to take care of his friends and himself, to keep everything under the radar, but the truth of the matter remained that Captain America wanted to forget. He was as damaged as the people across the hall. He used sex as his drug of choice.

Steve Rogers was damaged.

Is damaged – and there’s not a damned thing Tony can do about it. That’s what irks him. He’s a mechanic, an engineer, he fixes things. It’s in his nature. He can’t do a damned thing to help Steve. Even if this situation was closer to normal circumstances – say that Steve would allow him to help – Tony begins to doubt that he can. A drug addict cannot find a way to solve the problem unless the addict admits it. Steve thinks he’s only doing it for the benefit of others. Tony knows better.

As he drives back to New York City, Tony tries not to let it eat at him, but he finds it difficult. He’s in love with a sex worker and, regardless of whether or not said hooker is Captain America, he’s powerless to change things. Sitting in traffic on 95 North, he tears open the bag of cookies and digs in – he pulls out a sugar cookie and a small sheet of paper. At first, he thinks it might be a napkin or something, but then he realizes it is too small and it’s sticky on one side. A post-it note.

He glances down from the road for a moment – he can the traffic is at a standstill (again). In a shaky scrawl, the words are scribble on the paper:

_Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division_

Underneath the strange words that don’t really seem to go together is a hurriedly sketched picture of Captain America’s shield. He would know it anywhere. He slept on Captain America sheets as a child. Back to the road, he checks the traffic and inches forward, but then he’s back to the words and the shield. It only takes his brain a few seconds to put the words together with the shield.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “Not shield, but SHIELD.” He screws up his face as he mulls it over. “What does that even mean? An acronym, SHIELD?” The last word hits him like an electric shock. Division.

Division.

Dear Mrs. Fury gave Tony a place and a name. It’s not much but it means the world. He can figure this out; she might as well have given him a social security number. It’s that easy for him now. He has more information than he could have ever hoped for with this little note inside a cookie bag. He snorts. “Cookies.” 

He munches on the rest of the cookies during the long ride home. When he’s fifteen minutes from the mansion his phone rings and, while Steve has never called him before, something sings in his heart that it could possibly be him (Tony tries not to think that Steve’s his boyfriend). 

He doesn’t recognize the number. He considers ignoring it, but not a lot of people have his phone number so it’s probably someone important on an unrecognizable phone. He picks up. “Yeah?”

“Hi – sorry is this Darling?” There’s a delay with the words and it sounds distant, like someone might be on a speaker phone. 

“Hmm, who is this?” Only one person calls him darling and that’s Steve. The person on the line does not sound at all like Steve and it’s not Steve’s number.

“Yeah, great. This is Clint from across the hall – at Steve’s?”

Tony pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a second, but then Clint calls to him a few times. Tony places the receiver to his ear again. “Yes, what’s going on?” He thinks he needs to pull over. The world around him narrows and he feels a fist squeeze his chest. “Is something, is something wrong?” Why else would Clint call him?

Christ, if that Frank dude killed Steve, Tony will murder him with his bare hands.

“We need your help?” His words come slower than expected. “He’s only just left. I think you can stop it, if you try.”

“Why? I don’t? What’s wrong?” Tony does steer the car to a side street and curbs it. 

“This guy, he found out about us. One of the people we- listen, we’re on the run, okay? And one of the people looking for us, found us. Steve went to meet him, said he had a plan, said he knew this guy would go for it.”

“A plan?”

Clint hesitates and then with a long sigh says, “Steve didn’t want to run again; he wanted to stay here. But Rumlow found him. It’s not going to be good. You have to go to him. Nat tried to work it, but she couldn’t. You have to go to him.”

“What? Where?” Tony can’t feel his fingers; he can’t feel his body yet at the same time he tingles with anxious energy. 

“I got an address. Natasha found it. Out in Bayonne.” Clint proceeds to tell him. It’s in New Jersey by the docks. It will take him over an hour to get there.

“I’m in the car now, it will take me over an hour to get there,” Tony says. “But I’ll go.”

“Nat can meet you there, you might need help,” Clint says. “I would go but someone has to hang here with Bucky. He’s very volatile right now. We can’t loose him on the streets.” 

“Understood,” Tony says and he doesn’t. He hasn’t met Bucky and he keeps it wrapped tight inside of him the stories he heard about Captain America, his childhood friend Bucky, and the Howling Commandoes. He does because he has to – how else would it be even possible to have dead soldiers from World War II walking around in modern day New York City?

After he assures Clint that he’s on his way, he bucks traffic and gets himself turned around to go back to New Jersey. The idea of Steve in the hands of someone that’s been searching for him, looking for him terrifies Tony. It occurs to him that he might be interrupting something that’s a little more than just a shake down for money. It might get ugly. He should call someone, get backup. Anything. He doesn’t – because how is he going to explain that he’s on his way to New Jersey to save a man who looks like Captain America, who also happens to be a hooker?

God, his life is shit.

On the way to New Jersey – once he gets over the border he starts searching for a home improvement store. It won’t be much but he can, at the very least, be ready to defend himself. He is a weapons manufacturer, after all, he should be able to put together some different kinds of defense weapons without a problem. He doesn’t plan on killing anyone. Supplies, he needs supplies. He finally finds a Mom and Pop place and pulls off the road. The place is an utter disaster but he manages to find enough supplies from pliers to oven mittens, to fertilizer, fire ant control, canvas bag, and even old Christmas ornaments for good measure. He keeps loading up the cart with as much as he can find and ends up spending over a thousand dollars at the place. The old man behind the wooden counter looks at all of the stuff and then at him.

“Having a party! End of the summer, gonna be a big smash hit.”

The man picks up the welding torch and frowns, his eyes shift to assess Tony again. 

“Time’s a wasting,” Tony says and taps his wrist where his non-existent watch is. “Come on, partner, I’m going to save my babe.”

At that something rings true and the only man smiles a toothless grin. “Did that myself long about 1968.” He cashes out Tony all the while extorting about his adventures in the age of Aquarius. 

Finally out in the car, Tony dumps everything in the trunk and then drives up the road to a small Motel 6. He pays for the room and goes to it. It creeps him out, and he wonders if he’ll have bed bug bites from the place but he doesn’t have time to worry. It takes him longer than he wants to make the small explosives in the Christmas decorations, and the electrified oven mitten. It has exactly one charge so he has to use it judiciously. He makes the rest of the bomb balls and then loads them all up into two shopping bags. 

He checks the time on the crappy motel clock by the side of the bed. It’s been over an hour since he talked with Clint. He only has a few miles to go to get to the place where Steve was going to meet with the guy – he figures it must have taken Steve a while to get out here. It’s not as if he has a car; he has to rely on public transportation as far as Tony knows. He closes the motel door and then checks in his trunk again for all of his supplies. This is going to get nasty pretty fast. He knows that much.

He jumps into his Audi and shifts into gear. Leaving the butt ugly motel behind, he streaks onto the road as the tires squeal against the pavement. He watches the traffic while scanning for the right street. He finds it, off the beaten track. It’s one of those small alley ways that looks like it’s impossible to fit a car through, but he rams the Audi down the narrow path. His heart feels like the beating slowly brings it further up in his chest into his throat to choke him. He opens up his hands, and then closes them on the steering wheel. Once he gets through the small alley way, the street opens up.

As he drives the car into the small parking lot near several squat buildings at the edge of the docks, he thinks he should probably call Pepper or maybe Rhodey. He’s fooling himself if he thinks he can handle this – he doesn’t even know if Steve’s here, or if this is some kind of set up to kill him. 

He scans the area. Abandoned dilapidated buildings threatening to fall into the water surround him. He should really call Rhodey because if there was ever a fool's errand it’s this one. It's a great set up- isn't it? Get a hooker that looks like his childhood crush, have him work Tony over so much that he falls into a blinded state of love, add in the mysterious friend across the hallway with poor English language skills, seizures, and hearing aids to boot. Plus add in one sick dude that no one ever sees, at least Tony doesn't. The whole thing reeks of set up. Okay, a very elaborate set up, but he is a billionaire. Maybe they're going to kidnap him, beat him, try and ransom him.

Why doesn’t he have his bodyguard with him? 

Because he’s always slipping out and telling Happy to meet him hours later. He should be more serious about his own safety. Maybe he should call Pepper if he's not going to confess his downright ridiculous intention to Rhodey. Oh, and what should he say there? Dearest Pepper send police to this location as of nine this evening because someone needs to retrieve my cold dead body. He shakes off the anxiety and pretends he's okay with the idea of dying for some sex worker.

It doesn't matter what his logical brain screams at him; he's going with the irrational part of his brain that's pretending he's some super hero or better yet some knight in shining armor off to rescue his love. He's going to forgo calling pepper or Rhodey because that's all on the logical side of the equation and he's way over on the other side - probably the quantum emotional side at this point where the feeling in his gut over rules every argument in his head. It's balanced that way, right?

Lower center of gravity. Less chance to fall over. He recognizes he's in the slow path to insanity but decides it's better than the alternative of admitting to himself that he might be about to be murdered. With that in mind, Tony parks the car and then gets out. Always keeping his eyes to the crumbling buildings near the water, he rounds the car and triggers the trunk to open. He loads up with all of his supplies, using one of the canvas bags he bought. He slams the trunk and considers the buildings. 

He needs to figure out which building to go to and do it fast. If he figured it correctly either Steve hasn't arrived just yet or he's just appeared on the scene. It's been well over the hour he estimated. With bag in hand, he crosses the gravel parking lot, trying not to acknowledge the sweat dripping down his temples or the running of it down his back. He slips on his sun glasses and surveys the first building. It's falling apart, a mere shell of its former manufacturing glory. Probably a great buy with good access to the water. He frowns and keeps searching around and as he crunches the stones under his too expensive shoes. He sees a black SUV and a motorcycle parked behind the second trash heap of a building. It shouldn't bother him, but it does and he shouldn't investigate but he does. He checks out the bike. There's nothing about it that should set off alarm bells except for the fact there's a little (faded) A painted on the seat as if someone wanted to show it but decided displaying it anywhere else would be too recognizable.

"Shit," Tony says. If it means what he thinks it means - he's wrong about one thing. Steve didn't take public transportation. He used a fucking bike with a little A painted onto the seat as a remembrance of who he used to be.

That can only mean one thing - whatever's been going down has been in play for more than a few minutes. His pulse races and he swallows down the fear. He crouches down as he walks close to the building, listening to get an idea of what he's about to encounter. He can’t catch any noise, not outside. It means he needs to go in and that means he's committed to this foolhardy task.

Just as he's about to turn the corner to slip inside, two huge guys come out of the building. Tony ducks to the side and waits. One of the men licks his lips and smiles as the other zips his fly.

"That was tasty. Rumlow is a fucking animal."

"Don't know," the man who fiddles with his zipper says. "You think we should do this? You know what it's all about. We should call in it."

"And pass over that ass? Rumlow may not like sloppy seconds but I ain't particular. And last I saw you got a raging hard on even after he sucked you off."

"Still if Pierce finds out we got him and dicked around like this.”

Tony tries to focus on what they're saying but he needs to battle down the nausea as he pictures Steve selling himself to these two idiots for their silence, as he imagines Steve on his knees with their fucking dicks in his mouth. It rules him - the anger and transposed shame. Without a second thought he grabs one of the decorative bombs and lobs it at the two shit heads. It explodes in one's face as the other ducks. But Tony's not finished yet he throws the next one like he's a major league pitcher sending a fast ball across home plate. It slams into the second moron, bursting as it does and the goon shudders, then collapses to the ground. Tony should check and see if he just committed murder, but he doesn't. Instead he slips through the door of the old factory, keeping down as he does, and then he tries to get his bearings as quickly as possible.

The defunct machinery surrounding him provides cover but also obscures his view of the place. He hunches over because he has no idea who might be watching. Soundlessly, he moves forward and strains to hear anything, any clue of what or whom he might be facing. He goes deeper into the dark and needs to slide his feet along the floor after he nearly trips over a piece of equipment. Cursing, he shuffles forward but keeps his head down. As he continues forward he seriously considers whether or not he's lost his mind. He's not a fucking super hero. What does he think he's doing? He's not in the Air Force like Rhodey. He might manufacture weapons but he doesn't use them. Then he thinks about the men outside and realizes that's no longer true. Going forward he almost passes a small office near the back of the far wall of the factory until he spots the light leaking from under the door. He cocks his ear and hears murmuring.

Creeping closer he kneels down and flips his canvas bag onto his back. The walls of the back office are solid up to about his chest and then they are a panel of windows. Most of the windows are stained with oil and grease affording them a coating that blocks all of the light. He crawls around the room until he sees a small window pane that's missing and the light floods out of it as does the sound.

It's appalling.

The slap of flesh against flesh and the grunt and hiss of an exhaustive exertion. Tony almost turns around and leaves but then he remembers the important revelations he had earlier. Captain America does this because he has no self-worth left. He's selling himself because he's lost a sense of purpose and hope. Tony climbs up and peers into the room.

He bites back his cry of horror.

He wants to un-see what he’s witnesses, but he steels himself and watches as he tries to find an opening to stop the assault. Before him, Steve bends over an old rusted desk. At first that’s all Tony sees, or allows himself to see. He focuses on Steve’s half closed eyes, that are not half closed because he’s in the throes of sexual pleasure but due to the swelling. Someone hit him hard enough to cause serious injury. They worked him over before they decided to fuck him. 

Steve presses his face against the filthy desk while his hands are behind his back. Tony can’t tell, but he thinks they might be restrained in some manner. Steve turns and picks up his head as if he might fight but that’s when Tony realizes he’s being pulled up. The sight of the garrote around Steve’s neck enrages Tony. Tiny droplets of blood drip down along Steve’s throat, smearing across his pale skin. The man behind him, the man fucking him is using the garrote as a kind of noose/reins. He tugs at Steve, forcing him to arch up or the garrote slices into his vulnerable flesh.

Steve isn’t even naked. He still has a shirt on, his pants (from where Tony is standing) are puddled at his feet. The man behind him only has his pants pushed down, and thrusts into Steve with a wild angry rhythm. 

“Oh fuck, Rogers, you are one sweet piece of meat.”

“Get it over with,” Steve hisses – his voice ruined by the wire noose around his throat.

“We gonna do this every fucking day,” the man – who Tony assumes is Rumlow – says. “You hear me, Rogers? I want you out here every day and I’m gonna.” He stops and groans as he pounds into Steve. “I’m gonna have my men in here, they’re gonna use you like the dog you are.” 

“Let them try,” Steve says and spits out blood.

Rumlow yanks on the wire and Steve gags, choking and blood spurts out of his mouth. Tony prepares to launch himself into the room, searching for a way in that will allow him to burst in behind Steve’s assailant.

“Oh they’re gonna try,” Rumlow moans. “Oh sweet Jesus, you feel so tight, tighter than a goddamned virgin. Must be the fucking serum. You should have stayed with SHIELD. You should have -.” Rumlow speeds up as he fucks Steve. The wet slap reverberates. “You should have stayed. Wouldn’t be a whore then, would you? We left you nothing. You got nothing left.” He laughs through a groan. “I follow you around from one city to the next and stop everything you try to do. But this, this I ain’t stopping. You gonna let us fuck you.”

Tony closes his eyes and hates the sounds even more. He needs a way in, but the door is opposite the desk. Rumlow positioned everything perfectly so he could watch and fuck at the same time. On the desk, close to Steve is a gun. Tony won’t have a goddamned chance against it.

“You liked having Mic and Fritz together, didn’t you? Liked getting choked by their dicks together, Liked watching that, liked seeing their cocks all stuffed in your goddamned mouth,” Rumlow says and throws his head back. “Sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus, I could fucking do you all day.” He grunts something bestial and then jerks, freezing as he orgasms. Steve squeezes his eyes closed and cringes.

This is Tony’s one chance, he crashes through the door and throws one of his Christmas decorations in the corner as Rumlow startles. He staggers away from Steve, who slides to the floor hitting the gun and taking it with him as he goes. Tony charges Rumlow with his gloved hand and grabs for the first thing he can think of – taking hold of Rumlow’s half hard penis and releasing the electrical jolt. Rumlow’s screeches and judders, then falls to the floor. 

Tony throws the glove to the floor and kicks at the man. He’s out of it for now. Hurrying over to Steve, he finds him wincing in the corner as he tries to release the cuffs.

“Special metal, you need to get the keys,” he manages to say. 

Tony scrambles to the fallen man, searches around his pants that are tangling his legs. He finds a key ring and brings it over to Steve. With a quick release, Steve’s free. He rubs at his wrists and slowly gets his pants back on.

“What are you doing here?” Steve says and spits out more blood as Tony takes the wire noose from his neck. 

“We can talk about that later, come on,” Tony says and clasps Steve around the bicep to help him up. He wobbles a bit, and Tony thinks he shouldn’t be this weak. The physical bruises and injuries are minor. “Are you okay?”

Steve grabs hold of the desk to steady himself as he wavers. “I will be.” He leaves it at that, but there’s a distant pain in his eyes and he looks like a man about to give in and give up. “You shouldn’t have come. They-I made a deal.”

“Yeah, great deal. Let me tell you something, your negotiation skills suck,” Tony says and helps Steve toward the door. Tony glances at Rumlow, who lies unconscious with his dick out and burnt. He has no remorse for what he did to the prick.

When Tony opens the door to the office and guides Steve out, he glimpses a shade of fear wash over his face. Is it even possible for Captain America to be frightened? “It’s going to be okay. I got the other guys.”

“And I got the rest.”

They both startle at the sound of Nat’s voice and Steve’s legs give out. She rushes to his side and takes his other arm to put it over her shoulder. 

“I thought you weren’t allow out,” Tony says. He’s both relieved to see her and slightly pissed as well. He cannot parse his feelings. 

“That’s not why I’m with them.” She assesses Steve and her expression wars with her words. “You’re a stupid, stupid man.”

“I thought you couldn’t speak English that well,” Tony says and his mind reels at the subterfuge. 

“Like I said, I’m not who and what you think I am.” She lifts her chin to indicate they should continue forward.

With both of them helping Steve, they support him through the broken factory. As they work their way through the aisle of rusted old equipment and silent machinery, they keep low in case there may be others waiting for them. Tony wants to interrogate Nat and find out how many others she encountered, but as he begins to ask, Steve grips his hand and stops them.

“I need, I need,” he says and then just sinks to the floor, curling over his knees and wrapping his arms around himself.

Nat gets down next to him and strokes a hand down his back. Her words are quiet, sincere, and private. He cannot hear her and he figures he should keep watch anyhow. Though he aches, because he knows it isn’t any injury that’s stopped Steve. Not that kind of injury anyhow. 

Through the small windows along the wall of the factory floor, he can see the sky over the water. The day has left them and the night falls in purple bruised hues outside. He worries how much longer they have considering the hit to Rumlow wasn’t all that hard, though he won’t be using his dick for much for a while. 

He looks back at Nat and says, “We don’t have much time.”

“Help me get him up,” she replies and then whispers something to Steve in Russian. 

Steve mumbles a reply and when he looks at Tony he says, “I didn’t want you to see me like that. Why did you come? Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” 

“Well enough? Well enough?” He gulps back the anger, but it’s Nat who stops him with a firm hand placed on his shoulder.

“Not now, let’s go,” she says and he swallows back his reaction. 

Nodding, Tony grips Steve again and brings him back to his feet. Steve’s legs want to fail him but Tony with Nat’s help gets him moving and hopes that the forward momentum will encourage him to keep moving. They are only a few meters from the door when Rumlow slams open the office door and roars like a mad dog. 

Getting his dick fried apparently really pisses off the bastard. He's got an assault rifle (which if Tony had seen it, he would have taken it). Rumlow limps onto the main factory floor and, with a hollering scream, sprays the area with bullets. He's no aiming at anything, the rage must be blinding. And the pain, Tony thinks.

Grabbing Steve, Tony dashes for the door but Rumlow sees their furious run to the door and the rifle levels out to target them. Steve stumbles and, for a second, Tony thinks he's been hit. With no choice, Tony yells at him to move it while Nat zigzags through the broken aisles of equipment toward Rumlow. He hasn't a clue what she's up to and doesn't have time to worry about it. As he manhandles Steve to the door, the bullets pellet around them like possessed hail from the sky.

Nat orders them, "Go, get out. I'll meet you back there."

He's not sure what she means and knows he's too far in over his head to argue, so he takes Steve by the shirt and drags him along. If he is the original Captain America then what just happened to him must have jarred him royally. He's not functioning on all cylinders. But Steve follows him and when Tony chances a backward glance he finds Steve trying to mentally catch up. There’s a lost look in his eyes, and it recalls images of Steve as a young man, thin, sickly – Tony saw those photographs. He knows them as the beat of his heart.

Rumlow screams, "This isn't over. Your ass is mine. You goddamned slut, Captain Assfuck." Somehow he climbs up on the old conveyer belt and riddles the place with bullets. That's when Steve wakes up.

He kicks as the side of the large ominous machinery next to them as they hide. The impact of his bare feet (why the fuck are his feet bare) causes the plating to dent and then he tears it off using only his hands. With the plating to shield them, Steve grasps Tony and they head toward the door. The bullets ping, singing off the metal.

"Fuck you Rog-." Rumlow starts to shriek but his words are strangled silent and he pitches backward off the conveyer.

Tony only has an instant to see that Nat has her legs wrapped around his head and pounds him in the chest with both fists. With that image blazed in his brain they break free of the factory only to stumble upon six unconscious (maybe dead) men – part of Rumlow’s team Tony assumes- lying at the entrance of the building. He knows he only incapacitated two. Where did the others come from and what the hell did she do to them?

Steve does not let them stop to find out. At first he directs them to his motorcycle, but Tony stops him and forces him toward the Audi. He scrambles toward it, but as Tony jiggles the keys trying to get the locks open with the fob, Steve whips around as if he might go back into the factory.

Tony stalls him. “No, we’re leaving. Where are your keys?”

Steve fumbles around and Tony sees that same lost look in his eyes again, but he manages to retrieve the keys from his pocket. Tony grabs them and then orders Steve into the car. He looks like he’s about the protest, but Tony glares at him and cannot believe it actually works to get the man into the car. Steve settles next to him and that’s when Tony notices it for the first time – he’s trembling. Not overtly but with small quakes as he tries to put on his seatbelt. Tony doesn’t have time to help him but revs the car into drive and then steers it close to the motorcycle. He tosses the keys out the window and hopes to god that Steve has his phone.

“Call her, text her, whatever and tell her to take the bike.”

Steve searches around as if he cannot remember whether or not he left the phone in the factory or, God forbid, in his apartment. He finds it and lets out a sigh of relief. The text only takes him seconds as Tony gets back on the road, kicking up gravel as he streaks out of the parking lot. 

He checks the rearview mirrors and his side mirrors for any sign of pursuit. He doesn’t see any. After biting away the acidic comments that trip over his tongue, he says, “Should we call the police? Or do you know someone else to help her?” He notices that Steve still has his phone out and is texting again.

“Sending a message to Phil now. He might be able to help, but it’ll get messy.”

Tony grips the steering wheel and thinks he might actually bend it as he says, “How the hell messier can it get?”

Steve snarls at him, “It wouldn’t be messy at all if you didn’t interfere. It was fine. I made the deal-.”

“The deal? The deal? That guy was fucking raping you, if you didn’t know that little fact.”

“I consented to it. It isn’t rape if I consented,” Steve says but his voice falters.

Tony keeps his eyes trained on the road as he navigates the car through the narrow streets of Bayonne. “That was not something you consented to, no. You really want me to believe you consented to being garroted?”

Steve clamps his mouth shut but a glimpse over to the passenger seat and Tony detects it again – the slight quaking of his shoulders, his hands as he holds the phone. Tony reaches to him and clasps his hand. 

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

Steve doesn’t tear his hand away but he shakes his head. “No, Tony, it isn’t going to be okay. I was serious when I said you should have left well enough alone.” He looks out into the twilight as the sun dips down in the sky and the deep night creeps down like a veiling shadow. 

“Clint called me, he was worried,” Tony says.

“He shouldn’t have been, I told him I could handle it.” He rubs at his temple, this time knocking Tony’s hand away. “How are we – we can’t deal with this – not like this. There’s no way we can.”

“Listen,” Tony says and maneuvers the car into the thick of traffic. “I know you don’t want to hear it but I can help. God, Steve, let me help you. You realize what the hell just happened, don’t you?” It hits Tony some of the words Rumlow said, some of the details. The idea, the images materialize in his head and he tries not to puke in his mouth. “This isn’t you. I know it isn’t you. You might do this for money, but not for that. Never for that.”

Steve stares away from Tony, out into the growing night. “I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to stay here.” He mutters something under his breath.

“What’s that?”

Steve snaps his attention to Tony. There are tears in his eyes. “I was stupid, okay? I got attached. I shouldn’t have. Now – damn it. Maybe I can meet Rumlow again. Get him to deal.”

Tony doesn’t have the ability to process the beginning of Steve’s statement – only the end. “What? You’re going back to him?” He thinks he understands the need to kill for the first time in his life. “He’s going to treat you like dog meat, you get that right? He’s going to have all of his goons fuck you and use you, right? You get that? That’s what he was saying when he was choking and fucking you.” Tony can’t stop his voice from raising, from closing in on growling out the words. “You get that he wants to rape you on a regular basis? Probably wants to chain you up and fuck you until you’re god damned dead.”

Steve has his hands pushed between his legs and he sits hunched over. Tony has no idea what happened to his phone. 

He admits, “Yeah, I get it, darling. I do.”

“Stop it, just stop it. You know my name is Tony,” he replies and wants the whole damned world to just fucking make sense. “You know my name is Tony and I know who you are, I really do. Don’t fuck with me.”

“No, darling, don’t.” Steve says but this time his words are fierce, determined, and firm. “We’re not playing a game. You didn’t come to my rescue, you signed our execution orders. I am not your damsel in distress.”

“He was fucking raping you,” Tony says and every part of him vibrates; he feels like he’s shaking apart. It takes all the guts and brains he has to keep his eyes on the road. But the words execution orders echo in his head.

Steve inhales and it seems to suck all the agony out of the car and into his broad chest. When he speaks it shatters Tony’s resolve. “I know that, but I had to let it happen if I wanted to stay here. Now I can’t, darling. I have to leave.” His words rips open all the wounds and destroy all Tony’s hopes.

“I can help you, I have money.”

“No, you can’t,” Steve says. “Phil can’t really help.”

“What about that Nick Fury guy?” He’s grasping at straws and he knows it. “Maybe he can help.” Whatever the news reports say, he knows that Fury can’t be dead – Steve talked about him in the present tense. 

“Fury, Phil, they’re working on the inside. Now Nat,” Steve says and closes his eyes as he leans back in the seat. “Now, we’re all on the run. Again. I won’t be able to help Clint or -.” He stops and shivers. This time the tears do come but he denies them. “We have to get home, back to the apartment. I have to make plans. Nat should be able to delay them, but for how long?”

“You’re hurt.” Tony tries to convince him again. “You, all of you could come to my house – or any of my houses. I have a few. Anywhere in the world. I could help you, please let me help you.”

“If I do that,” Steve whispers. “Then I’ll lose you as well. I’m going to lose you anyhow, but then you’ll be in danger.” He bows his head. “Just bring me home. I need to get everyone together.”

“You need a moment to heal, to adjust, to figure out-.” He stops because he can’t say anymore and Steve doesn’t quiz him on what more he wanted to say. “Do they know where you live?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“We have time then, we’ll figure it out,” Tony promise and he understands the sincerity of an empty vow then; he wants it to be the truth, but he feels the hole it creates in the center of his chest. “It’s going to be okay.”

The rest of the ride is silent. Tony turns on the heat in the car even though it is late summer and he’s boiling due to the humidity and the temperature outside. He notices that Steve shivers and curls in on himself. Clearly, he’s in some type of mental shock even though he’s the king of denial. When Tony pulls up close to his apartment building he looks over at Steve. He’s sleeping. 

Tony wonders how much sleep Steve gets. What could possibly have led him into a life that he’s chosen? Did he ever have a choice? He doubts everything he knows and then he thinks about how the morning started – a meeting with a woman about her dead son. Clues pile up but no answers.

“Look at you,” Tony says in a low voice. He can barely make out Steve’s features in the glowing light of the lamp post. “You won’t let anyone save you.”

He strokes a hand down Steve’s face, being careful not to touch the injuries to his eyes. Steve jerks and wakes. He realizes it’s Tony almost immediately and relaxes. He’s still curved in on himself to stay warm against the shock. 

“I could help you.”

“And if you did, you’d be in the same position we’re in. Don’t be fooled, darling. What’s happening to us is bigger than you think.”

“Let me come up and at least help you out a little. I have off shore accounts,” Tony starts.

“Just help me upstairs. I don’t think I can do this on my own,” Steve replies. The idea that Steve admits this small weakness should startle Tony, but he’s grateful for it and gets Steve out of the car. He takes on most of his own weight, yet he holds onto Tony’s hand like a lifeline. 

In all his years, Tony’s never been one to be called supportive or empathetic. His early life bred that out of him. But now, he aches with it and wants to know why he’s not allowed, with all his power and influence, to help. What good is money if he can’t help?

Finally they get to Steve’s floor. Steve directs Tony to the little hovel of an apartment where he entertains clients instead of the apartment he shares with his mysterious friends. Tony frowns and Steve catches his expression.

“I don’t want Bucky to see me right now,” Steve says and he opens the door with a clank of the key in the lock. Once inside, he crosses over to the bathroom and without a word, closes the door. The water turns on. Tony stands in the middles of the studio apartment, lost and frightfully aware of his impotence. It should be funny that he feels that way within a hooker’s abode, but it’s not. It feels fucking painful and wrong. He feels worn and open and somehow empty with a sense of dread eating into the darkness in his soul.

He sighs, and then goes to the door across the hallway. He hits the buzzer that flashes the lights. Clint opens the door almost immediately.

“Hey, he’s back.”

“Is he okay?” Clint asks. He looks like someone socked him in the mouth. He’s got a bag of frozen peas against his face. 

“As okay as can be expected, considering. What happened to you?”

“An old buddy of mine decided I didn’t need my teeth,” Clint says and his words are muffled by the swelling of his jaw. He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Take care of him, and don’t let him in here. Someone’s in a very bad mood.”

Tony forgoes asking about _someone_ because he knows he’ll only get obtuse answer anyhow. “Well, he’s getting cleaned up and then I am going to make sure he rests.”

Clint screws up his face which only serves to make him wince. “Ow.” He rubs at his jaw. “Listen, we all know that’s not happening. We know we gotta leave.”

“Not right now,” Tony says and lifts his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to get some security out here, just to make sure you have a window.” He’s lying. He’s going to find a way to get them all to his mansion. He doesn’t fucking care. Clint eyes him, assessing his value and the truth of his statement. “Believe me, I have the funds and the power.”

“Okay, but I’ll get things ready to go.”

“You do that,” Tony says, because in all seriousness he has no idea what shit is going to go down tonight. He trudges back across the hall. He should make plans, he should figure out what’s the next step, but the truth of the matter remains that Tony’s not a soldier – he never was. He’s not a spy or a cop. He doesn’t know how to handle these matters. He should have called in Rhodey. Who knows if those guys are dead? Who knows if Nat – no _Natasha_ is dead? 

“Christ,” he says as he opens the door to Steve’s studio apartment. The room is quickly filling with steam from the shower –which surprises him. Hot water can be a premium here. Steve never closed the door to the bathroom; it stands partially open as he showers. Tony waits for him to finish, but then after allowing ten more minutes to go by he realizes he’s not hearing the normal splash of water in the shower. It’s just a steady stream and nothing else. As if no one is actually in the shower to disturb the fall of water. 

“What the hell?” He knocks the door open, but it hits the toilet. His fears are unfounded. Steve’s still in there. But he’s bent over in the shower on his knees, the plastic curtain plastered to him, the water raining down on him. “Damn it. Steve?”

Reaching up, he shoves the curtain aside and turns off the water that’s turning cold now anyhow. He manages to get the curtain aside so that he can touch Steve. He leans against the fake tile, his face hidden with his arm, his face tucked into his elbow. He still has his clothes on. Or at least his shirt. His pants and underwear are gone. Tony finds them in a pile under the sink. 

“Steve?”

It takes a moment but Steve finally raises his head. “What would Ma think of me?”

“Oh lord, oh fuck,” Tony says and sits on the closed toilet, and wraps his arm around those massive shoulders. 

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out.” His voice is weak and very far away, too far away. “Supposed to go into the water, it was supposed to all end.”

Some of what he says confuses Tony, but he knows that shock overcomes sense. He looks around the tiny bathroom and finds the towel folded neatly on the back of the toilet. He grabs it and lays it over Steve’s shoulders as he shakes. 

“We’re going to get you out of this, Steve,” Tony says even though he hasn’t figure out exactly what this is yet.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks up at Tony. His eyes are bloodshot and tired. “I tried everything else. You have to believe me. This was the only way. Natasha played the part. She tried but she couldn’t – they followed the money all the time. She barely could slip away to us. What they did to her, to Clint, to-.” He stops and places his hands over his face. “I put it in the water for nothing.”

“No.” Tony denies – but he doesn’t understand, not truly. Most of what Steve says makes no sense at all.

Steve drops his hands and the sorrow in his expression renews the pain in Tony’s chest. It feels like ice shards. “Yes. I’m the man who sacrificed everything for nothing.”

“Steve, you have to tell me what’s going on, now,” Tony tries again. He knows he’s taking advantage of Steve’s vulnerable state of mind, but he needs to – they are in danger. “I’m here to help you.”

Steve touches Tony’s face, tenderly, softly and whispers, “Tony. Tony, I dreamed of you since the first time I met you. But I can’t have you. I can’t, because they want you. One way or another they’re going to get you. I’ve tried to protect you. This was the perfect way. They would never suspect it. Who would think that the prostitute that you were seeing was -.” He stops.

“Captain America,” Tony finishes. “I know Steve, I think I’ve always known.”

“I did it for them,” Steve says. “I did it for you. I tried to keep you safe and now, it’s all going to hell.”

The mishmash of words collides in Tony’s head. How does this have anything to do with Tony? He’s not sure he wants the responsibility of Captain America as a hooker in New York City. 

He opts to say, “It’s okay. We can deal.” Steve shudders under him. “Let’s get you out of the tub and warmed up.”

Steve agrees and somehow Tony maneuvers him out of the shower and onto the closed toilet. It takes some doing but he gets the wet shirt off and slowly towel dries Steve. The marks on his neck from the garrote are faded. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed.” 

Steve jerks a bit but Tony holds him. “Just for sleep. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

They fumble their way to the bed and Tony gets Steve to lie down, folding the thin blanket over his naked body. Though there are no visible bruises on his body, Tony can still see them. He sits on the edge of the bed, the thin mattress strains threatening to collapse under his weight. He doesn’t know how to do this, he has no idea how to handle the aftermath of rape. 

He touches Steve’s hand and says, “Whatever you need me to do?”

“Just,” Steve says. “I need to get up, I need to get moving.” He tries to rise. 

“Not now,” Tony says. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll figure it out.” He means it, too. He’ll call Happy and Pepper and get the whole gang over here to move them out of this crappy building. He call in all the security guards. No one is touching Steve Rogers. Ever again.

Of course that’s when the door crashes open. Tony leaps to his feet to be confronted by a man with dark long hair, a seething expression, and a metal arm.

The man stalks toward Tony. “You die now.”

CHAPTER 6

The cave freezes at night. That's the funny thing about the desert. It reflects all the heat away from it during the scorching days and settles in to a paralysis of cold at night. He never thought much about it before, was never a geology or meteorology freak. His expertise had always been weapons, weapons of destruction. What did they call him? The merchant of death. He laughs and it catches the phlegm in his throat. The battery connected to his chest warms him to a degree and he clings to it at night time like its some kind of security blanket. But it's not. It's his albatross.

He can't help but giggle and he wonders what Yinsen thinks of him. He glances over at the man who somehow manages to keep a small bit of a civilized air around him even in the hell of the cave and the terror from their captors. He has no idea how long Yinsen has suffered through a captivity. All he knows is that he's only got this thin reed of a man with a calm voice and a quiet demeanor to get him through the days.

What does he have to get him through the nights? His mind falls back to Steve, the hooker. The man he thought he loved, the man playing a part who might just be Captain America but also some kind of clone. Tony doesn't know. He might never know. When the maniac with the metal arm came at him all those weeks ago, Tony's world shifted. It keeps doing that, shifting and changing and he fucking wants to get off this mad carnival ride. But the maniac beat him and Steve tried to stop it. He did. Along with Clint he stopped the beating but it didn't stop the fragmentation of everything that came before that moment. Steve didn't soothe and coddle Tony. Instead he picked a battered maniac off the floor and looked at Tony with blood shot eyes and tears on his face. He said, "It's best if you leave now."

Tony tried to argue. He did. He couldn't leave Steve. This coward with the crazed and lost look and the metal arm deserved nothing. For Christ's sake, it had been Steve who just been fucking raped and nearly garroted. Not his delusional friend.

"No," Tony had said. "I'm here to help. I want to help-."

"You can't." Steve's eyes turned flat, cold, but also defeated. "You need to leave and not come back."

"Steve-."

Steve had looked straight at him. His eyes were sunken and bruised with the nightmare he'd suffered. His resolve though seemed to solidify like a hulking mountain between them. It was made of rock and granite and nothing Tony blasted it with could break it.

"You can't do this. Let me help you. You need help, god damn it." His voice had sounded strangled and it probably was since the maniac tried to choke him to death.

"They'll come for you," Steve said, his tone strangely aloof. "They'll come and I won't be able to stop them. I have enough." He pauses and looked away from Tony. He steeled his expression and turned to face him again. "Get out."

The words still reverberate through Tony's body like he's on a fast moving train readying itself for derailment. The words shake him and rip him up inside. Sometimes he thinks they are worse than the fact he's sitting in a cave in Afghanistan waiting for death. What happened after those moment are a blur for Tony. He'd left but always thought he would find a way back. It didn't happen. Two days later when he showed up at the apartment he stood on the street and looked up at the burnt out shell of a building. They'd gotten to Steve and his friends. They burned the building down. There were fatalities. Tony walked away, numb and frozen and wondering why the tears would not come.

He denied the truth for a while. How could he come to accept that Captain America had been a prostitute in New York City and that he'd died in a suspicious fire. Eventually he needed to accept the facts but it still felt like ice in his belly. He tried to thaw it out. He fucked his way through Times Square and then in the mile high club and again all around Malibu. He vowed never to go back to New York. It hurt too much to think about Steve. How everything ended and left him with a pit of cold despair inside of him so that he would never feel again.

But yet, Yinsen wants him to feel, to care, to make a difference. He doesn't think it is possible. Everything and everyone seems so faraway. He's in the pit and he is letting it slowly and inexplicably turn him to ice.

Yinsen is a good man. Not like Tony. Tony has issues; there's something eating Tony's brain, a parasite. He thinks sometimes he can hear it gnawing at his neurons, especially in the dark of the cave. He clutched onto the battery. They'll come for him and tell him to make weapons. Now he sees his life laid out for him bare and ugly, vulnerable and fragile. He never saw himself like this in the States. He was the boy wonder. He could do anything. He was a genius and debonair and cunning all at once. Now he feels the dearth of despair and want and hunger. He'd never been hungry before now. He doesn't think it is a physical hunger but more of an emotional one. He feels the loss of Steve and all of his dreams. It is the whole in his chest.

He rolls to his side and wants the darkness and shadows to take him. But of course they don't. He formulates a plan and all the while he builds the fortress to house his soul he remembers his soul burned in a fire in New York. Sometimes even when he's his most confident he feels parts of his core flaking off and dying.

He escapes. Of course he does. Yinsen plays the piece and he's more bereft than ever. He has nothing to hang onto to ground him but the iron and steel and alloy that he builds. Pepper is there to steady him and Rhodes is there to support him. Neither know the real reason that the hole in his chest will never heal.

He dreams sometimes and it is of touch and feel and he wakes up sweating and shivering and harder than he’s ever been. He groans and makes his way to the shower, hoping that his stumbling gait will help to abate his need. It doesn’t. So he stands in the shower and jerks off, or tries to until he falls into a heap on the tiled shower floor, sobbing and rocking. He goes over and over the moments it all fell apart, but he cannot stop it. Every time he relives it, it always ends the same way.

It ends with a hole in his chest and a fire that burned while he wasn’t looking. He scrambles to his bed some nights and remembers the cave and retraces his steps. He goes back to the moment of the attack. No, not when the blast hit the convoy, but when the maniac attacked him.

The world whited out before him as sounds transformed from screaming to a brutal, guttural growl. Spittle had splattered across his face as he struggled against the metal hand clamped around his throat, threatening to crush his trachea. He could barely make a sound. He gasped for air but the maniac holding him down never ceased. His eyes were an inferno of anger, his face a grimace of loathing. He was hell bent on killing Tony.

Without much leverage, Tony tried his damnest to kick up at his attacker but there was no stopping him. Possessed, obsessed failed to describe his feral expression, his singular intent. Murder was his intent, murdering Tony right in the little hovel apartment where Tony once had Steve on his knees sucking at his dick.

He never really understood how it all happened. He never fucking expected to be saving Steve from a rape or having to defend himself against some metal armed assassin all in one day. 

Tony had coughed and choked thinking it would be his last fought for breath, but somehow, from somewhere, he managed to dig up the strength to ram his knee into the guy's dick. The maniac howled. Yet, he loosened his grip enough for Tony to slam his head forward and bash his attacker in the nose. Stumbling back, his assailant screamed and Tony faltered to find his feet and get up.

He was still hunched over when he heard Steve push himself out of bed and say, "Bucky, stop."

"He dies. He dies." 

The words echo in his brain all through the three months he spends in Afghanistan and again, when he lives his life in Malibu as becomes Iron Man. He distances himself from the memories but the truth still haunts him. He keeps wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t been scared away, if Steve’s walls hadn’t shuttered him out. He wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t surrendered.

He uses the last remnants of his soul to transform. He becomes the suit and the suit becomes him. He fights and wins. And Obie is gone and his life is over because the very thing that saves him is killing him. Rhodey tries to help, even Pepper intercedes but nothing stops it. Everyone says he’s a hero.

He’s not.

He’s a man functioning without a soul. What does that make him? The hole in his chest grows bigger and he wonders if Steve knows. Of course, Steve doesn’t know. Steve’s dead, Steve’s burned up. He finds himself standing outside the burnt shell of the apartment building. He opens the half door that’s left and walks on the protesting floor as it creaks and groans at him. Tony doesn’t listen to his own brain that tells him it isn’t safe. What’s safe anymore? He’s invincible because he doesn’t really exist anymore. He’s done things, and been things, but he never really loved until he touched a damned hooker.

He walks up the scorched steps and finds his way to the little apartment. The stench of fire lingers even though it has been months. He can taste it in the air. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and feels the moments again, how very strong and crazy Bucky was.

Apparently, the maniac had been Steve’s best bud, the one that fell off the train according to the history books. Or maybe that was all made up shit. Tony doesn’t know. But the Bucky he met was a wild bear because he rushed at Tony again and again. Steve's words meant nothing to him. Tony had grabbed for anything to ward him off. He managed to catch the old lamp with the torn shade to swing it at the bear. All to no avail.

Bucky was massive, and back then, back then Tony hadn’t been Iron Man. He’d been an arrogant rich guy with a chip on his shoulder and more money than sense. Bucky’s shoulders weren't as wide as Steve's but he was bulkier, thicker with muscles rippling across his chest and abdomen. He was bare chested when he attacked Tony. The metal shoulder and arm glinted in the fading light. There was no stopping him. He was a train, mad and wild, with the intent to crash into the side of a mountain. But Tony was not a mountain. Not by a long shot.

Tony had crumpled beneath the onslaught. Fists collided with his face and he heard the crack of bone before he felt it. But that didn't stop the mad bear. He hauled Tony to his feet with a metal hand seizing his collar and banged him against the wall. Bucky slammed Tony against the wall again and again. His head had throbbed with a headache for days afterward 

He thought he was going to fucking die. All because he fell in love with a hooker. 

He feels the moment again like they are fresh, like they are happening to him again. But they aren’t, they are old like the newspapers piled in the corner and burnt on the edges to blackness. His memories are fading and he’s never going to touch Steve again, never going to figure out how Captain America became a hooker in New York. He leaves New York again that night and doesn’t go back.

Pepper doesn’t question him when he arrives in California again and he doesn’t look like he slept for weeks. He probably hasn’t. He feels jittery and broken. He’d been on the East Coast to go to DC and stop them from trying to take the Iron Man armor away from him. It isn’t happening. If they take the armor, Tony has nothing left, but how can he tell them anything? They don’t understand that one of the richest men in the world, is actually the poorest man. He feels like a fake.

“We need to get you a new assistant, if you really want me to be the CEO. I can’t do both,” Pepper says. He doesn’t want to hear it. Pepper is his security blanket and he can’t lose her.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. You barely remember to eat,” Pepper says and then tells JARVIS to order him food. He doesn’t want food, he wants Steve. “Tony, what happened?”

He stops and looks at her. They are in his workshop and he’s playing with a new version of the repulsor. He thinks he can get it to have differing degrees of fire power. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s happened? You’re not you anymore.”

“Oh you mean the insufferable ass that was arrogant and a playboy and didn’t give a crap about anyone?”

“No, I mean the man I care about. You’re wilting away,” Pepper says and places the tablet down on his workbench. “What’s going on? Since you came back – no since before you went to Afghanistan something was wrong. When you had the broken nose and came back to California from New York, what happened then?”

“Let’s just say I had an awakening,” Tony says and tries not to think about Steve being garroted and raped. It hurts so much to think about the look on his face as he collapsed into the bed, worried that Tony would expect him to put out. But that look and all the vulnerability disappeared when Bucky happened. 

Steve had forced his injured traumatized body out of the bed and tried to reach out to his friend to stop beating Tony, stop ramming his head against the wall, stop trying to kill him.

“Bucky, please, please. He didn’t do anything.” He begged and begged – for Tony. He begged.

“Something happened the last time you were in New York, did that person break up with you?” Pepper asks. She’d guessed a long time ago that he’d fallen in love, heart and soul.

He swallows down the ache and shakes his head. “Yes, no, not really. I don’t -.” He hisses through the emotions. “I-he. He died.”

“Oh God, Tony,” Pepper says and rounds the workbench to take him into her arms. And for all the need to not touch anyone ever again, he falls into her embrace like a starving man. The touch vibrates through him and he shivers. She holds him and comforts him and tells him it will be okay. “No wonder, no wonder.”

She gets him to eat that night and then brings him to his bed. She has him undress and then lay down. She kisses his forehead and for a moment, he remembers his mother. He closes his eyes and listens to the memories of his mother singing to him. 

It’s time to move on but his brain doesn’t let him. His brain keeps playing the same scene over and again. 

His descent into hell – not in Afghanistan, but the minutes when Bucky tried to kill him and it all fell apart. 

Steve had tried. He did. He threw his bruised and weakened body at Bucky and pulled him away from Tony, but Bucky became a battering ram. A human, thinking battering ram. He shrugged off Steve as if he was only a ninety pound weakling and stalked over to Tony. Tony lurched, still fighting to find some breath. He crawled and used the wall for support. Blood ran from his nose and his head exploded with pain. That pain would become something he shouldered for half a year. 

With a guttural cry, Bucky ran at Tony. But Steve – naked and vulnerable – blocked him and huffed as the air gushed out of his lungs upon impact of shoulder to abdomen. With barely enough breath, Steve had managed, “Ss-st-op. Bu-Bucky – know who yo-.” But he never finished because Bucky had one mission, one goal and that was Tony. A sweep of his arm and he flung Steve across the room to clatter and fall to the floor. 

“You don’t, you don’t want to do this,” Tony had said as he crept ever closer to the wide open door. Bucky clutched onto his wrist and dragged him over to the window. With his metal hand, he shattered the window and then pushed Tony out of the pane. He held onto Tony’s shirt, letting him hang out of the window as the shards of glass stabbed and pierced his torso and shoulders. Hanging there, nearly insane with fear, Tony only wanted to explain, to tell Bucky he cared for Steve. He never wanted to hurt him.

Yanking at him, Steve had tried to pull Bucky away from the window. “Please, damn it, Buck. He’s not hurting me.”

The jerk and tug of his attacker had caused Tony to slip against the cracked glass and one of the sharp fragments of glass sliced into him. He screamed. He used his fist to pound Bucky but there was no stopping him. With eyes focused only on Tony, Bucky glared at Tony and with a snarl yelled, "Hurt him, you all hurt him. Stop now!"

At that point, something broke inside of Tony and he accepted what would happen. Tony let go of Bucky completely. The lights of the city glittered in the darkness and the world tilted upside down from his vantage point. But he had no choice, no way out. Somehow Tony found a sharp, lose shard of glass. Managing to grab the glass dagger Tony screamed and, with a strength he didn't know he had, cracked it off and drove it into Bucky's chest right below his right collar bone. Bucky had gasped and staggered back, immediately releasing Tony. 

Fumbling, grappling for purchase he grasped the side of the window frame, feeling the raw edges of the glass bite into his hands, but it didn’t matter. He dragged his body upward, throwing his weight forward to get his center of gravity into the room and not pointed down toward the pavement below in the alley way. He juddered as he got back into the room; his legs wobbled and he couldn’t stay upright as he took in the scene.

His attacker looked shocked; his mouth opening and closing like a fish caught out of water. His eyes were wide and luminous, sparkling with bright understanding but stained also with a confusion that consumed the light of comprehension at the same time. It was a strange juxtaposition of consciousness. Steve had his hand on his friend’s chest, holding the shard that’s wedged deep into his pectoral muscle.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” Steve whispered and there was a horror in his voice that ate away at Tony’s last reserve. 

He got onto his hands and knees, ignoring his own wounds and crawled over to Steve. “You need to lie down.”

“I have to help him,” Steve had said and he didn’t look at Tony. He focused solely on Bucky as the man seemed to shift through a flickering consciousness. While only moments ago he was present and vibrant in his hatred and anger, he seemed to have fallen into a shadowed pit where he could not parse truth from fiction, past from present. 

Tony shook his head and the tightness at his neck reminded him of what just happened again. “You need to get back to bed. You’re hurt.” He didn’t wait for Steve to answer but turns to Bucky instead. “You understand? He’s taking care of you while he’s hurt.”

Steve whipped his attention to Tony and, through clenched teeth, said, “Leave him be. He’s bleeding, he’s hurt.”

Tony tasted the bile in his mouth. “God damn it, do you even get what’s going on here. Look at yourself.” 

“No.” Steve touched the glass stabbing into Bucky and when he did the man winces. “You don’t get to come here and be Prince Charming. This is not a fairy tale. This is not how it works. In any way.”

“He’s a mess. He’s a maniac, he fucking tried to murder me.”

“And you nearly killed him,” Steve had said and struggled to his feet to go to the small bureau. He dug into the drawer to retrieve a towel. He wavered as he stands next to the bureau and Tony caught the slightest tremor of his hands as he folded up the towel and brought it over to his friend. With a tender touch, Steve placed the towel against Bucky’s shoulder and then said, “I need to pull it out.”

It was worse than being attacked, worse that being beaten. A revelation came over Tony at that moment because he realized just how obscenely different their worlds were. Tony would never be able to blend these worlds because they seem to be some alternate reality, a reality mixed in grief and pain and subterfuge. He left then, he walked away and closed the door behind him and never went back until he went to see the burnt out hollowed structure of what was left once the people who were after Steve finally found him. 

He doesn’t know when he wakes up or if he actually slept at all. When he does he gets out of bed and stands by the windows, looking at the ocean. He feels the calming waves as if he bathes in them. Finally he feels a little release as if he’s done with all that’s happened. He can dive into his work these final months that he has left until the palladium kills him. He can do this, he can find a way to make the world a better place.

He goes to the gym, readying to get his body into some shape. He knows he’s failing but he can still go through the motions because if there’s no hope, there’s no way to move forward each day. 

Pepper finds him in the gym and trailing behind her is a woman with startling red hair and full lips and eyes like the nebula. He nearly stops breathing when he sees her. 

Pepper steps out of the way and introduces Tony. “Your new personal assistant, Natalie Rushman.”

He nearly swallows his tongue when she smiles at him and raises quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Say hello, Tony,” Pepper says and knocks him in the arm.

“Hello, Tony,” he parrots back and something inside of him bursts open. It isn’t an ember of hope, but a conflagration. 

CHAPTER 7  
The city of Mumbai has a sense about it, like a living thing that breathed under the sprawling architecture. A phantom spirit haunts the narrow alley ways and the multi-laned highways, the shanty towns and the elaborately decorated luxury hotels and fine dining restaurants. The juxtaposition of the rich and the poor, like any city, seems to vibrate with a kind of uneasy truce. Its history gurgles under the surface as a central port to the many Empires it hosted along the way. The writhing of the city reminds him of the poison that seeped from the arc reactor, trying to kill him. But that isn’t right. He thinks Mumbai is more like the arc reactor itself – beautiful, complex, and even deadly. 

Many in the west don’t appreciate that the origins of the city comes from the seven islands. These islands on the western shores of India comprise the center of culture and finance as well as the underbelly of the country. Nations all over the world seed their own demise. Pundits and politicians of the United States always pick the large metropolitan areas of America as the core of what was wrong with the nation. Nothing could be farther from the truth in the United States. Current opinion in India mirrors what’s been said about the States – that the cities will curse the country. Personally, he’s never seen it that way, but always seen it as the inverse. 

Cities to Tony always symbolized innovation. But the truth about innovation is that just in the past century or so has it been widely accepted as something good. Innovation in the past had always been labeled heretical, something bad, something evil. Cities are not inherently bad, but they live – they have lives – they are born, they develop, they grow, they age, and they die. Tony’s not sure if Mumbai is still healthy or if it ever was. All he knows is that it’s hiding more than just its own mysteries, it’s also hiding Steve.

After nearly a year, he’s on his way to finding Steve. Why should he be concerned? The man left him high and dry and never looked back. For Christ’s sake, Tony thought he’d died in a damned fire. He found out the truth of it when Natalia or Natasha or whatever the hell her name is walked into his life and turn upside down the unsettling reality he’d been finally able to accept. It took some time to get her to spill the beans. In other words, it took Tony finally nearly dying again because of the poisoning in his blood for her to come clean. As he watches the sights of the city run by him from the cab window, Tony recalls how he’d finally broken down and she along with her boss man finally came clean.

It took a doughnut shop and Tony losing the armor to Rhodey for things to finally resolve. Her friend and boss, Fury was there with her. It didn’t escape him that this man was probably the same Fury that Steve spoke about all those months ago. Even when he was introduced to the man with the patch, when he heard his name Tony’s heart drop into his stomach and all the pain and trauma that revolved around his memories of Steve came back. At that time he hadn’t known Steve was still alive.

But across the table in the booth of the doughnut shop, the man himself sat. Fury. As he cocked an eyebrow at Fury, Tony had recalled what Steve had said once -  
_He’s still on the inside_. Then Tony pieced it together with the long ago meeting with Clara Fury revealed. SHIELD, Coulson. It had been a place and a name. Fury was still inside, Coulson was a good man. SHIELD had been the place – the place that Fury had been still inside. The place he’d found that Rumlow worked. He could have gone down farther into the rabbit hole, but he didn’t. He’d put everything aside once he figured out he was dying of Palladium poisoning. Why bother with the dead?

The doughnut shop had changed everything. After weeks of trying to get Natalie Rushman to fucking acknowledge that she was the same Nat who lived across the hall from Steve – he found himself sitting across from her and Fury.

“There are many places I’d rather be right now, Stark.”

“Well then go, who asked you here anyhow? Is this about Rhodes and the suit? Or the government trying to take my armor. You can’t reverse engineer it, I figured out ways for that not to happen,” Tony had said and sipped his coffee. His head throbbed and no matter how many doughnuts he ate his mouth still tasted of plaster. What the hell had he been eating and drinking during his party? “No one can take the armor.”

“Well, someone did,” Nat said as she hung an arm around Fury’s neck. Where they a thing? 

“Whoever the hell you are, I really don’t want to talk to you. You killed Captain America.”

Fury tapped the table then and his one eye grew narrow with rage. “Keep it down, son.”

“I am not your son, and you are not anyone I want to talk to. He wanted your help, do you know that? But no, you left him to the streets and he had no other choice.”

“He had a choice,” Nat said and her eyes looked far away. “He’s sick. I was there to help him, not the other way around.”

“Oh fat lotta good that did him. He’s fucking dead because of you,” Tony had hissed in a rasped whisper. He sat back then and shook his head. “What the hell are you doing here anyhow?”

“We need your help,” Fury had said. “Even though it pains me to say it, we need your help.”

“What are you putting together a heroes initiative, because you can count me out.”

“Is that because of the new artwork on your neck?” Nat stood up and, before Tony could stop her, injected something into his neck. 

“Hey!”

“It’ll slow down the poisoning, but it’s not a cure,” Fury said and then Nat took her place next to him again. 

“That doesn’t make me anymore interested in working with you. You left him to die,” Tony had said.

Fury and Nat shared a look and then Nat turned to Tony. “He’s not dead. We made it look that way to make sure that Rumlow and Pierce didn’t know. He’s on the run with Bucky and Clint.”

“Oh that’s a good trio,” Tony had said and he forced himself not to jump up and scream to the heavens that Steve wasn’t dead, that there still was hope. 

“We sent him someplace to try and get help for Barnes,” Fury said. “We need you to know that Rogers isn’t well.”

“I already knew that,” Tony said but didn’t elaborate.

Fury pulled out a dossier from his long leather coat inside pocket and slipped it across the table. “When we found him, he was frozen. We didn’t know he was alive. Things were done, experiments by those in SHIELD looking to find the secret to the serum. No one bothered to figure it out until they started the experiments, he woke up. It wasn’t pretty.”

“So this is supposed to make me want to help you?” None of that little horror story could. Not in the least.

“I wasn’t one of the advocates for the program. When we got him, he was half insane from the ice. Apparently, he was conscious during the ice and the pain – well the pain drove him over the edge. Even Captain America has his limits, and being in the ice for over 65 years broke him. He spent some time under the care of SHIELD.” Fury opened the folder with the information on Steve. “It isn’t pretty. Nothing could help him.”

“Nothing but sex,” Tony muttered, but scanned the paper all the same. Page upon page of psychological evaluation of Steve Rogers after being rescued and thawed from the ice. After a brief escape from SHIELD within the first week of his awakening, Steve Rogers was transferred to something called the Raft where he stayed for over 5 years under going assessment. “What’s this Raft?”

“An illegal prison,” Nat said and threw the best snarl Fury that Tony had ever seen. “He was kept there to try and equilibrate his brain to the present. The memories of 65 years of freezing and being isolated, not being able to move overwhelmed him. He could barely talk at times.”

“He tried to kill himself several times,” Fury added.

“We want you to take a look at this,” Nat said and plucked a thumb drive out of her skin tight cat suit. “And see what he’s been through to try and understand what happened to him.”

“Why? Why tell me this now?” 

Nat met Fury’s gaze and Tony saw it, spotted - the sorrow but also the determination. “We need his help.”

Tony laughed. As he thinks on that moment now, he can still taste the bitter bile and the acid rolls in his stomach. He recalls how Steve treated himself, how he let men beat him and fuck him just to numb all the pain. It hurts even now as he sits in the cab in the thick of traffic in the middle of Mumbai, India. 

Nat didn’t take offense to his reaction but Fury had. He had leaned forward in the booth and glared at Tony with that one angry eye. “What about the fate of the free world do you find funny, Stark?”

“Funny?” Tony’s smile had dropped. “I find none of this funny. I find it disturbing that a war hero who obvious had a serious case of PTSD was locked away in a prison, was experimented on, and when he finally got out – or should I say escaped – could only self treat himself by having people fuck him until it numbed it all.” His admonishment worked. Fury had been sufficiently cowed.

“I get that lots of what happened to the Captain shouldn’t have. I argued against it. I was shut out. I only found out what they did to him a little before you happened -.” The way he’d used the word happened chilled Tony. He knew then it was a set up. Somehow. “To run into him. Pierce and his yes men wanted the Captain for more than I can tell you and probably more than you want to know. Thankfully, the Captain did escape.” For a quick minute, Fury had glanced at Nat and she only tightened her mouth and said nothing. 

“He escaped from your gulag and went on the run?” Tony asked and the idea of a man so desperately pained and lost running from shadows both imagined and real hurt deep inside. That’s when Tony realized it – knew that he still loved, that he still cared even after all the time that had past. 

“I went with him, pretending to be a prisoner as well,” Nat said with a shrug of her shoulder. “He didn’t ask a lot of questions. We got Bucky out and Clint. Bucky had been with them for so many more years, and Clint – well, he’s another story. You should look at the drive.” She placed it on the table between them and he just stared at it like it was some kind of key to the heavens or the hell. He was making a choice, deciding on his fate and the fate of others. 

“You want me to help you find him?”

“No,” Fury said. “We want you to bring him back. We know where he is. We need you to bring him back and help us save him, because we need him. The world needs Captain America again.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to come back,” Tony had said.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Nat said. “Look at the data, you’ll see. He deserves to have the chance to get back at them.”

He didn’t grab for the drive right away. Instead he asked, “Who, who are we talking about here?”

“SHIELD,” Fury said. “Get him back and we’ll tell you everything.”

Tony had picked up the drive then and brought it back to the lab. There had been some distractions along the way – a little problem with Hammer and his pet Vanko turned sour and Tony along with Rhodey had to mop up the mess. By the time, he finished clearing out Vanko and Hammer, the meeting in the doughnut shop felt like a distant nightmare. More than once he thought he might have dreamed it up or hallucinated it from the poison running through his blood at the time. Little things told him he was wrong though, not least of which was the damned thumb drive. 

And that stiff as a board guy, Coulson who kept hanging around Tony’s Malibu mansion even after he came back from New Mexico. Tony didn’t like it and hadn’t invited him but somehow or another he couldn’t or didn’t tell him to leave. One night shortly after the whole Hammer business, Tony had been down in the workshop keeping himself busy so he didn’t have to think about it. Why? He didn’t know. He’d been ready to celebrate when he found out Steve was still alive, but then reality set in. It had been easier to think of Captain America as a hooker in New York City as some kind of weird illusion or even undercover operation. The thought that Captain America, Steve Rogers – the man that he loved – had suffered and still suffered from sixty plus years of extreme isolation and pain. Well, it overwhelmed him and he put off delving into the truth. Neither Fury nor Nat came a knocking after the Hammer incident. But Coulson did. He came and went but he always came back.

On the night in question, Tony had been dedicated to working on enhancing the interface between the arc reactor and the armor when Coulson appeared at the workshop door. Tony could not explain why he just didn’t tell JARVIS to shut him out, lock the damned door. He didn’t and Coulson walked right in. Usually his demeanor was all business and proper. He was always dressed in a moderate suit with a tie and a tiny little smirk on his face. This time, he was in jeans, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie. Plus he carried a tray with two steaming mugs on it.

“I thought you might like a warm drink before bed.”

Tony glanced out the window of the workshop. It must be close to dawn. What the hell was he doing here anyway. He didn’t reply to Coulson.

“Hot chocolate. My mom’s recipe,” Coulson said and placed the tray on the worktable. Tony had no idea where he’d conjured up the ingredients in the mansion to make hot chocolate but it looked enticing. The tall mug was topped with whipped cream with chocolate syrup drizzled over it. 

Tony grunted and took the offered mug. He wasn’t going to drink it, not really, but without a thought he sipped it. He had to admit, it tasted divine. “What’s with the hoodie?”

“Comfortable, sometimes I like to just be you know, a regular guy,” Coulson said and smiled.

“A regular guy?” Tony scoffed. When wasn’t this guy the very definition of a regular guy? “Okay, let’s go with that.” He knew what Coulson was there for, watching Tony, waiting for him to break down and help Fury. Some part of Tony didn’t want to help him, but he did want to see Steve again. He couldn’t deny that. Yet, he had to acknowledge that the months without Steve, the separation had moved toward an acceptance and almost a new reality – that the whole sorted affair had been some kind of fevered dream from when he had been captured in Afghanistan. He wasn’t stupid, he knew it wasn’t – but maybe a small part of him wished it was so that he could ignore the idea that Steve had left him. 

Coulson pressed his thin lips together and then said, “I’m going to be leaving. Again. This time, this time for good.”

That had startled Tony. He hadn’t expected Coulson to just up and leave. The idea of having him here and being part of Tony’s life even in a smallest of ways, had actually soothed some of Tony’s anxieties and given him hope that at some point he’d find the courage to deal with his memories of Steve. “I didn’t think you would ever leave. Good luck.” Tony added in a mutter, “Where ever you’re going.”

“To India.”

“What some alien coming down to beat on India now?” Tony wasn’t stupid. He’d hacked into enough of SHIELD to know what went down in New Mexico. 

“Not exactly.” He stood there, staring at Tony with his hot chocolate mug in his hand. His eyes looked dead and Tony thought about whether or not the myths about zombies might be truth. It was unnerving. 

“Okay, then,” Tony said. “Thanks for the liquid chocolate. I prefer coffee, but thanks.”

Silence descended and the man didn’t leave. He just stood there.

Tony had never been known to be a patience man and he finally huffed. “Okay, what?”

“Going to India.”

“Yes, I got that.” He had wanted to wring the guy’s neck. For ages he had been invading Tony’s space. Was he waiting for some kind of medal or thank you for being a bug in Tony’s ear all the time? 

“Before I go, I wanted you to know that they really hoped you would do it, that you would go and get him back.” He gave Tony that half smile that rounded his already round face. “Maybe if you had looked at the data on the drive.”

Tony went to the toolbox where he’d thrown the thumb drive. He picked it up and brought it over to the table. “Do you want it back?” Half of him didn’t want Coulson to take the drive. Allowing Coulson to take it would mean that Steve was lost to him forever. 

Coulson put his mug down on the workshop table, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. “I’d rather not. I’d rather you take a look. They’re sending me because I’m a big fan of his, but I truly don’t believe it would impress him all that much. Now you, you might impress him, you might bring him back.”

“What makes you think he even wants to come back?”

“He doesn’t,” Coulson said. “But he needs to, we need him.”

“Why?” Anger grew, raging through him. “You fucking abandoned him, let him sell himself on the street, god damned let your SHIELD agent fucking rape him.” At that Coulson’s pallor became pasty. “He doesn’t want to come back because no one fucking cares, no one’s here for him.”

At that, Coulson’s look darkened. Even his sallow skin seemed to warm and color. “Not even you.” 

Before Tony had a chance to answer, Coulson spun on his heel and left. No more words, no more demands. He just left. Tony stood there, staring at the drive and feeling the cold of the truth eat him. He let himself stand there – frozen and paralyzed – without a thought in his head at all. He just focused on the drive. 

“Son of a bitch.” He grabbed up the drive and brought it over to the computer console. “JARVIS scan the drive and access it. I want to see all the data, analyze it.” 

That was when Tony’s world changed. The contents of that drive, the data – it hadn’t only been the information confirming that his hooker was Steve Rogers, Captain America. It hadn’t only contained the reams of data on his time frozen under the ice. It hadn’t only contained the data on the search for Captain America, but it also contained the dirty secrets of SHIELD as if pertained to Captain America, Steve Rogers.

Even now as the taxi made it through the increasingly compressed streets of Mumbai, Tony gags at the memories of what had been on that thumb drive. 

CHAPTER 8 Off to INDIA 

CHAPTER 9 STING and FINALE


	12. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a story I started that I really want to expand on. I thought of how it would be if Steve had been found much earlier and if Hydra had essentially taken over SHIELD, etc. Howard being part of the shady dealings. It is very dark. Here the story shows Tony 'inheriting' his father's life work. This was going to be a story of Steve's recovery and also a slow burn to Steve/Tony. Since I am stepping away from the Stony fandom I thought I would post it here for you to enjoy. It isn't beta edited or fixed - very much in draft form.

The landscape swept by in a green brown blur of motion. An occasional patch of snow broke the dull coloration of the early winter scenery. He watched as the tree line disappeared as they climbed higher in elevation, as the snow grew thicker on the ground. The air would get thinner, the oxygen would dissipate. The scatterings of vegetation became stunted and small. He’d never been to this laboratory, falsely believing that it had been shuttered when his parents died all those years ago. Of course, it hadn’t. Stane kept it alive and open for years and now that he was dead Tony had to deal with yet another lost visage of his father’s brilliant insanity. Sure, the world saw Howard as a hero of sorts, the genius millionaire who changed the world by shaping it with weapons of mass destruction. Tony supposed a good number of people outside of the United States thought of Howard Stark as a terrorist. A man who’d helped bend the world to the needs and requirements of his own government. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Tony left that to the philosophers and historians. How Tony conducted himself in his own life and from now on mattered. Afghanistan had changed everything for Tony, his company, and his friends. He looked over at the driver and Pepper smiled at him. Though her eyes showed a severity and her thin lips reflected a fierce determination. He assumed it was her need to protect him; she was like a mama bear in that regard. He didn’t need her to do it, not anymore but he did appreciate her need to keep him safe. The world did that to people like Pepper. Pepper who cared too much. He was glad he jettisoned his heart when he launched out of the terrorist camp in the middle of a dusty desert. 

Once he had imagined her as a catch, then as a lover, and finally as a life mate, but he’d missed his chance when he found out his body guard, sometimes driver, was dating her. He twisted around in the bucket seat of the SUV to see the specially equipment van that Happy drove following behind them. Pepper had insisted they needed the van with its medical equipment and its security tools. You can never be too careful she’d stated. 

Just what they would encounter in the old labs in the middle of the continental divide puzzled Tony. He had quizzed Pepper because he trusted her implicitly with every aspect of his life. He’d even tried to beg off going on this adventure, but she’d convinced him. She’d told him that they needed him, his expertise and critical eye. No one ever told him he had a critical eye before, so she swayed him with that argument. Tony knew his tendencies for adoration might be a little out of control. He gave into her too easily and he needed to keep that in check. Mooning after a woman in love with another man did no one any good. He assuaged his hurt heart by going out with several different prospects. None of which stuck. Hammer pursued him but that was just nausea inducing. The last few months Tony lived like a monk and in some respects like a hermit and he perfected the arc reactor, replacing the palladium core before it went toxic to him with a new element he’d discovered. All was well with Stark Industries. 

Except now that they discovered this lab in the archives of his father’s notes, he needed to deal with whatever hocus pocus science dear old Howard had cooked up. Tony wouldn’t have worried about it, but he knew things, found things that left an ugly trail of who and what Howard had been connected to. The Movement. It terrified him to know his father could be that ruthless, could be part of a secret conclave of men (only men) who contorted the Constitution to their own interpretation. He’d learned a respectful fear of his father early on.

As a child Tony knew a distant father who acted as if Tony was an asset more than a son. During drinking binges Howard would talk incoherently about the Movement and yell at Tony to get the fuck away from him. Other more lucid moments had Howard lashing out at Tony in more physical ways. Even now as they turned down a narrow single lane road, Tony rubbed away the ache of pain. 

The gravel under the tires crunched and rolled the wheels, jostling them. The outcroppings of rocks took on a near supernatural glow. The sun glinted along the ridge of the Rockies. Colors streaked through the layers of the mountains offset by the newly fallen snow, and it complemented the morning sky. The winter season drew deeper colors of magenta and orange that tinted the clouds. It was a pretty place but private, isolated. Up ahead a large stone wall blocked the view. It reminded Tony of a fortress. What the hell could it be? He looked at Pepper as she steered the vehicle toward the check point. It was automated but lacking in the most up to date technology. Pepper stopped the SUV and put it into park. 

She turned to him, her strawberry blonde ponytail swinging as she did. “It will need your fingerprint to open the gates. If that doesn’t work, you’ll need to hack it.”

“No one is in there to let us in?” Tony asked as he peered at the at least 9-meter-high wall. Shit that was high. What the fuck were they doing in there?

“There are some workers. Minimal staff from what we understand.” Pepper unbuckled. “They have strict instructions about who can come and who can enter.”

Tony understood a bit of this. One of the reasons they started looking for the laboratory in the first place was the accountants found an anomaly. A lab in the Rockies was drawing funds from a secret off shore account that Howard had established decades ago. It was an investment account that had millions in it and funneled money to the specific laboratory. For three decades it operated. Of course, Howard and Stane apparently knew about it since their signatures was all over the archival data. It meant that for the last few years the facility ran without Tony’s knowledge or any supervision. 

“Tony?” Pepper said and opened the vehicle’s door. 

He nodded and unbuckled. Part of him dreaded what they might find inside of the fortress. His father hadn’t been a good man. The things Tony discovered about Howard – his secret links to the Soviets. His interest in the super soldier program extended not just to trying to find Captain America’s frozen body but also to maintaining and cultivating a relationship with Soviet scientists. Howard and his part in the Movement sickened him. Tony swallowed down the bile. He’d been nurtured by his father to be part of the underground program. A program that wanted to change the world in its image. He’d bought into it when he was too young to understand or to question. He benefited from it for long enough. His deconstruction of the Stark Industries from weapons manufacturing had been his first step in liberating himself. Now he was about to see what other horrors his father and the Movement hid for him and used to benefit the underground. Produced to benefit what Tony thought might just to too similar to fascist organizations of the past. 

He got out the SUV and walked around it to the small interface. It asked for his handprint. “I don’t know if this will work.” Tony knew it would. His father required a new handprint every few years from him. Even though it had been decades since his last scan he was sure it was on file. Even here. He placed his hand on the scanner. A whirl of mechanics and then an infrared light flashed over his fingers then palm. It took too long but then again this was old equipment. It buzzed and the gates growled a response as they began to open. 

“The gates of Mordor,” Tony muttered. “Let’s hope we not releasing orcs into the world.”

Pepper only gave him a small worried smile. Neither of them wanted to be here. They got back into the black rented SUV and then Pepper navigated into the main yard of the fortress. Several guards stood at attention near the steps of the facility. It looked like it was popped out of an old established university and plopped here in the desolate place in the Rocky Mountains. 

A guard hurried to meet them. Tony frowned as Pepper parked. Maybe he should have called in re-enforcements? Maybe Rhodey should have accompanied them. Happy drove the large van to a stop next to their SUV. As the guard greeted them, Tony fingered his iron man bracelets like a security blanket. The armor wasn’t far and he peered back at the van. Pepper eyed him, her gaze following his nervous fingers. Scowling he dropped his hands and gave a fake smile to the man awaiting his response. 

“You said your name was what?”

“Sawyer, sir. We’ve been waiting for you. All of us. For years now.” He sniffled against the harsh winds from the east and then smiled. 

That begged the question why hadn’t anyone actually reached out to Tony since Stane’s death and then he recalled the underground society that still lurked, still lived amongst them. “Well, I’m here now. We’d like a tour of the place and we brought a van to transport the one specimen on site?” That’s all they’d heard. There as a specimen on site – whatever that was. The description was vague in the archival data. 

Sawyer had a baby face that belied his age. The wrinkles around his eyes and the liver spots on his hands told the real story. “Does that mean you’ll be closing us down?”

He hated to tell people they were out of a job. “We’re going to survey the situation and then our plans are to decommission the site. We’ll transfer those personnel to other sites if possible.”

Sawyer smiled. “I’d love to get out of here for more than a few weeks at a time. Hard to live here without family 24/7. Specimen 18704 isn’t all that much company, you know.” 

What exactly did he mean by that – how could a specimen be company? Tony glanced around the yard. It reminded him of a prison yard. He spotted some workout stations and wondered if those were for the guards. Sawyer confirmed his suspicions. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, mister Stark. Those are for the guards only. The 18704 isn’t allowed outside. From what I heard the last time 18704 was allowed those privileges was about 15 years ago.” He patted his ample belly. “Long before my time. 18704 tried to escape.” 

“Yeah?” Tony said, and he shared a critical eye with Pepper and Happy. “Does the specimen try to escape a lot?” Just what the fuck were they talking about here. 

Shrugging, Sawyer answered, “Not much anymore. It’s learned the repercussions.” He leaned in as if to share a confidence. His breath smelt like old fish. Tony coughed. “Once I heard they whipped 18704 and nearly killed it. Took weeks for it to come out of its coma. We got recordings of it. If you want to see it.” He glanced at the van with a fake studious pondering. “You might need to. You gotta understand how dangerous this thing is.”

“When’s the last time the specimen disobeyed?” Happy asked. 

Sawyer cleared his throat and adjusted his belt where a shock bully club hung. “Not in the last decade. But we got precautions.” 

“Decade,” Pepper said, and her expression turned concerned and troubled. Tony tried not to think about what he’d been doing ten years ago. The memories were murky and filled with alcohol, drugs, and sex. All along this place existed for decades, for longer than Tony had been alive and something in there was the creation of his father’s madness and willingness to work with the devil. Tony shook himself out of the panic that squeezed his heart. 

“Let’s see it then,” Happy said. Times like these reminded Tony why he kept Happy on the payroll as his personal guard. Even with Iron Man, he needed someone with a steady hand and head to help both Pepper and him. 

Sawyer gestured toward the stone steps. “I have to admit. I kind of wanted to see you in the armor, sir. We expected you and all, but then again the air defense of this place is kind of crazy.”

Tony glanced up and saw nothing, but he wouldn’t put it past Stane to update that one part of this horror show. He grimaced at the guard. “The armor isn’t a side show.” Though when he was dying of palladium poisoning he might have used it as one. 

The guard raised his hands “No offense, Mister Stark. The boys and I just don’t get out much. Only got 18704 to entertain us. Lately it’s only been responsive to me or Brock. Though I’m not in charge of the punishment. Rumlow decides that.”

“I thought you said there hasn’t been punishment in years,” Pepper said as they went to the wide double doors of the building. 

“Well there’s every day punishment. You gotta understand 18704 ain’t no angel. After all this time it still fights, every once in a while.” He sighed. “I’m a softie. I don’t like to hurt it.”

As they entered the building, the abrupt change in lighting made Tony blink away the after images. He looked around the empty lobby. A large free standing sculpture of the Stark Industries logo stood in the center. It threw weird shadows around the marble entrance way. Tony frowned as he studied it. 

Facing the guard, he asked, “You keep calling the specimen an it. What exactly is it?”

Again, he shrugged. “I’m not permitted to answer that question, sir, even to you. I was told it was an experiment from the war. It never went anywhere. But the scientists who used to work here had a hay day experimenting on it. I even heard they cut out its tongue once.”

“It had a ton-?” Pepper said, and her pale skin colored a shade of green. 

“Well, it grew it back. Eventually. Took a few months. From what I hear. It’s like one of those salamanders that you cut their tail and it grows back.” He directed them through the lobby, never stopping to point out the curving archway toward the mezzanine. Instead they went to a bank of elevators. “They cut it out because it was bad or something. If you want, sir, you can get all the reports downloaded. They’re all digitalization. We spent the last few years doing that.”

“Digitalized. Great. Wonderful,” Tony said. Just what the hell kind of creature did his father create? Some kind of perversion. He blanched but managed not to puke. 

They stepped into the elevator. The guard passed his identification card over the scanner and the elevator closed. “Hope you’re not claustrophobic. The lab and prison level is down below.”

“Prison level?” Pepper asked, and Tony shuffled his feet. She didn’t know just how horrible Howard actually was. 

“Well not technically. It’s called the vivarium. But us guards we have our own lingo.” He gave them a toothy smile and Tony clenched his jaw. Just what the hell had his father been experimenting with. Tony knew of his fascination with the super soldier serum, and his quest to replicate it. Did he actually do it? Did his collaborations with the Soviets lead to some hybrid animal pumped up full with super soldier serum and blasted with vita rays. 

Christ. 

The elevator dropped for what seemed like too long. He could feel the anxiety vibrating off of Pepper. She sidled closer to Happy. He would protect her at all costs even if it meant Tony’s life at stake. They’d talked about it before. When the elevator opened on the laboratory and vivarium level a guard stood blocking their exit. He was muscular, dark haired, carried his ammunition on belts crossed over his chest. He held an AR15 in his gloved hands and gave Tony a respectful nod. 

“Sir, I understand you’ve come to inspect 18704.” He offered his hand for Tony to shake but Pepper took it instead. 

“Mister Stark doesn’t shake hands.”

The guard grunted his approval. “I’m Brock Rumlow. Assigned to daily duty with o four. Get tired of all those numbers.” He sniffled and pointed down the gray corridor. “It’s awake. I just finished the daily scrub down.”

Both Tony and Pepper stayed silent. Tony found the washed out surrounding spinning around him, he felt ill for no reason that he could discern. Happy jumped in to ask, “Scrub down?”

“We keep it clean. You know wash it. It responds to me, let’s me clean it, shave it. Knows I don’t take any shit from it.”

“Sounds like an abused dog,” Pepper commented. 

Rumlow barked out a laugh and Tony startled which threw him into fits of laughter. Sawyer only looked everywhere else but at the fellow guard. Rumlow whacked Sawyer on the shoulder. “You have to excuse good ol’ Chuck here. He’s got a soft spot for o4. Like they’re friends or something.”

Sawyer bowed his head and stared at his boots as if he had something to be ashamed of. Pepper softened. “I’m sure you have a good heart.”

Rumlow sniffled and wiped at his nose again. Just that motion made Tony wonder if the man did lines of coke to ease the boredom in this place. Rumlow shook his head and stared Pepper in the eyes.

“No one in here has a good heart ma’am. We’re all trying to survive a nasty assignment. Don’t blame it on the men, we’re loyal to the cause.”

The cause.

He’d heard that language before – when his father started to introduce him to the philosophies behind the Movement. Tony assessed the guard. The man seemed capable, more so than Sawyer but there was a ruthlessness about him as well. That might be a good thing considering what Howard had saddled these men with over the years. 

“How long have you been assigned here?” Tony asked. 

“Came about five years ago. Sir, Mister Stane hired me. Now I understand that you and he ended things kind of in the negative.” Rumlow twisted his face as if it was difficult to manage those words. “But he was always fair here. Much better than in my former employ.”

Tony decided to take that for what it was worth. Stane was a murderous asshole but the fact was, he was a brilliant industrialist. He managed the company while Howard was off on his horror show experimental missions and while Tony pissed away his youth. Yes, he sold out to terrorists, but he helped manage the company as Tony developed the newest and greatest weapons the world had ever seen. 

“Good to know,” Tony said. He really only wanted to get this over with. He needed to know if he could humanely release the creature or if he needed to put it down. How? He didn’t know. His hands shook as he put on his glasses. “How about we get the show on the road?”

Rumlow gave a short jaunty bow. “Anything for the boss.” He turned on his heel. “We got an observation room. It’s this way. I’ve tried to update all the equipment in it. But I’m not an IT guy. So, excuse that little issue. O4 knows we watch it. It keeps pretty quiet during the day. At night some times it hums to itself. Or scratched on the walls.”

“Excuse me?” Pepper said as she glanced at Tony. “But hums?” 

Ushering them toward the corridor, Rumlow answered, “Yeah I guess that’s what you call it.” 

Pepper scrunched up her face and silently questioned Tony. He gestured his confusion and continued down the gray hallway to what could only be termed an observation room. Several computers formed a semi circle and lined the large windows that looked down into a cell. The computer while not a decade old were somewhat dated by a few years. Rumlow wasn’t joking when he said he wasn’t an IT guy. Just a casual glance at how the equipment was set up told that story. Wires hung from the ceiling and parts were jerryrigged together. Several of the screens (old time monitors not flatscreens) read out data and a few must have camera feeds to the cell below. A cell. 

Christ what was he going to do with a monster? 

Before he approached the window to see the monster, Tony surveyed the screens. All of the feeds were grainy and pixelated. Obviously how updated the equipment was in the observation room meant nothing when the whole place still operated on decades old technology. He could only make out a figure and Pepper stood next to him. Her face pinched, her mouth tight. Tony inhaled as if he was about to jump into deep water. He exhaled as he stepped up to the windows. Pepper followed him, her hand gripping his arm. 

“It sleeps sometimes after the scrub down and shave. Kind of stresses it out.” Rumlow stood next to Tony. His arms crossed over his chest, the weapon secured to his back and a grin on his face that spoke of pride and arrogance. “It’s in good health. We haven’t had to do level 3 punishment in a few weeks, though we keep up with the daily punishment as instructed.”

God what kind of torture chamber was this place?

Tony stared down at the cell. It was plain. Nothing much. A bench in one corner and a blanket folded next to the bench. What looked like a shower head was tucked into the opposite corner. Tony frowned. Next to the shower head was a toilet with a sink. He stared at it for several seconds. Why would an animal need a toilet? Had they trained it to use a toilet? What the fuck had his father and Stane been doing? 

Pepper’s nails dug into his arm. He turned to see what upset her to see the shadow next to the bench move. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Every nerve in Tony’s body vibrated with horror and anger. “What the fuck! That’s a god damned human being!” He whipped around to face Rumlow and Sawyer. “That’s a man.” It was obvious the ‘creature’ was a man since he hadn’t been afforded any clothing. 

Sawyer’s gaze dashed around the room, not landing on Tony. Rumlow took charge of the situation. “Sir, yes o4 is a man or was.”

“What does that even mean?” Tony demanded. He swore his pulse shot up to dangerous levels. His temples pounded. “Who is he? How the fuck long has he been here?”

Rumlow gawked at him like he’d grown a second head. His demeanor didn’t change. He never looked ashamed at the fact they held a human being as their prisoner. For experiments. For daily punishments. They called the man it: they called him by a freaking number. Next to him Tony heard Pepper chanting over and over again, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand…”

With a glance to Sawyer, Rumlow pointed to the computers. “The data banks will answer all of your questions. My men were instructed to never refer to the prisoner by name-.”

“Do you even know his name?” Tony spat back at the man. How dare he stand there, cool and collected, as if this travesty was normal. Was it? What other seconds did Howard hide?

“We’re not allowed to give anyone that information. Even you, sir.” When he glimpsed the rage that must have shown on Tony’s face Rumlow added, “It might be in the files.”

“Might be in the damned files. You’ve been doing what? For how long? To a human being.” Tony glared at them. 

Sawyer sputtered to respond and placate Tony. “Maybe it’s some kind of murderer or something. It might Be evil.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night? So you can fucking sleep?” Tony growled out. “And that it you’re taking about is a person. A man. For Christ’s sake.” Tony put his hands over his eyes. He didn’t want to see anything, didn’t want to face the horror show before him. Some mutant creature would have been easier to deal with. He could have called in zoologists and gotten help. But the lab had been in operation for decades. How many men had his father and then Stane done this to? To what end? Why? The implications shocked Tony. “What was the purpose? Why?” He found himself muttering but not expecting an answer. In the fugue of shock, his mind spun in endless circles. How would they ever clean up this fucking mess? How could he ever repay the man in the cage for his father’s ruthlessness? For Stane’s pitilessness.

A tugging on shirt drew his attention away from his mental spiral and he dropped his hands from his face to look at Pepper. She had her hand clasped over her mouth and she pointed to the observation window. Tears welled in her eyes. At first, he didn’t know what to say – yes it was terrible. Yes, these men were guilty of dehumanizing a person – a man. Probably someone that Stane or his father found on the street, lured away from their homelessness with the promise of a warm bed and a cup of hot coffee. 

He studied the cage below and then he saw it, what had stricken Pepper mute. Fuck. It was like The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexander Dumas. A metal alloy covered the man’s upper face and shaved head– obscuring his eyes from sight. His mouth and the bottom of his nose was free from the mask but not from restraint. His mouth had something protruding from it that seemed bolted - _bolted_ into place. 

“What the fuck?” Rumlow stayed silent and that spoke volumes to Tony. Instead of turning to the guards for assistance Tony went to Happy. “I want that man out of there. I want that mask off of him as soon as possible. I want him clothed and properly fed.”

Rumlow stepped in front of Tony and shook his head. “It ain’t gonna happen, sir.”

“What the fuck? You are my employee. You do not tell me what I can and cannot do in my facility.” He scanned the small observation room and went right back to his directions and commands. “Pepper download everything, all the information on this man and any others. I want to know why and how and what the fuck has been going on here for that last half century.”

“What’s been going on here, sir.” Rumlow slurred out the last word to taint it. “Is a mission for the good of the Movement. You know the Movement. You were initiated into it when you were, what? Ten?” Rumlow snorted a little as if to dismiss Tony’s opposition to the work being performed in the hidden laboratory. “You disavow the Movement, you lose everything.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Tony retorted. He’d spent the last year, shifting assets, hiding his people, getting ready for the fall out when he finally brought the Movement down. “Now get out of my way and let my people work.” He knocked Rumlow in the arm and stepped aside to speak directly to Happy. “Get down there and get that man out of the cell.”

“It won’t come out,” Rumlow stated. “It won’t.” He looked like he just snacked on puppies and hung their tails on his vest.

Tony glowered at him. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

“It’s been trained – for years. If I or one of my men don’t order it out of the cell, it won’t come. It doesn’t want a level 3 punishment. Sure, it will chance a level 1, even a level 2 on occasion, but for it to leave its cell without our permission – that means a level 3 punishment. The last time it did that, well, it wasn’t pretty.” Rumlow snickered as he leered at Pepper. “Your pretty assistant can look up the files on that. Everything that’s taken place here has been recorded, documented, catalogued and saved.”

“To what fucking end?” Tony hissed. The anger raged through him and he boiled. He wanted to leap at the man and punch him until his face split open. His fury heated him and he thought it could light an entire city considering the energy racing through his nerves.

“The – it- he was, is an experiment, sir,” Sawyer said and Rumlow scowled at him. “He’s special. We gotta take samples every couple of days for experiments.”

It got darker in the room. The lights never wavered, but the world around Tony funneled to a fine pinpoint. His father had many sides. In his younger years his father had been a brilliant playboy and an architect of the survival of the SSR. As he aged paranoia set in and he looked for ways to secure his legacy. Taking a younger wife and having Tony had been one way. Other ways included joining up with the Movement. This – this horror topped it all. What could this man and any of the others his father must have used in the secret facility possibly done to deserve any of this? And what could they possess to warrant continual experiments?

“This makes you a god damned criminal. This is against Helsinki. It’s against the Belmont Report. Everything, everything,” Tony said and swept his arm in a chopping motion. What the hell was he going t do? His parents had been dead for years and off short accounts that Tony had inherited had financed this prison cell, this torture chamber. He was responsible. Him – Tony Stark. “Everything you have done here is illegal.” He turned to Happy and ordered, “Get that man out of there.” He shifted his attention to Sawyer completely ignoring the conceited look on Rumlow’s face. “You, help him. And don’t talk unless you are required to.” Without pause he addressed Pepper, “Get the downloads started. It might take a while considering the age of the equipment. If it’s impossible to download, we’ll dismantle and take the hard drives out.”

With something to do, Pepper managed to pull herself together and went to work at the nearest computer terminal. Sawyer gave his passcode to her and she instantly flew over the keyboard, accessing different drives and evaluating what she needed to pull all the needed data off of the older computers. 

“You’re going to be sorry that you’re doing this. It won’t be tolerated at the highest level,” Rumlow warned. 

For moment, Tony thought the guard might draw his weapon but he stayed relaxed, at ease – and that concerned Tony even more than an outright attack. What the hell was he planning. “Do what you want. I’m free of the Movement. You and your fascist organization can go to hell.” He looked at Happy. “Go.”

Happy waved for Sawyer to lead him and the guard nodded, his baby face streaked with fear. “I’m gonna lose my job, aren’t I?” Tony heard him ask Happy as they walked to the elevator. 

Fuck, that was the least of the guards’ worries. “I’m calling in the authorities,” Tony said. He tugged out his phone and still Rumlow did nothing. He stood there, stock still and smirked at Tony. This was so much worse than Tony realized. He considered Rumlow and his stone expression. Right now, Tony needed to focus so he went to Pepper, leaving the guard to his own devices as he punched in the call to the Air Force. No signal. The call failed.

He looked over to Rumlow, who only smiled. Son of a bitch. He needed back up, but they were so many levels down in the Earth. The armor couldn’t get here and Rhodey was out of range. He should have carried the suitcase armor with him. He needed a means to communicate with the outside world. He needed to call in Rhodey for support. With a glance at the still smirking Rumlow, Tony decided the only way to handle the situation was to get Pepper to find a way to link to Rhodey. She might be able to do it.

“Tony,” Pepper said, and it jogged him out of his reverie. “There’s data – over thirty years of data on 18704.”

Tony furrowed his brows, his interest in getting a communication to the outside world temporarily forgotten. “What? That has to be wrong.” He leaned down as Pepper showed him the files. Folders on physiological studies, anatomical studies, behavioral studies, psychological studies, stress studies, extreme environment studies, pain studies, isolation studies filled the screen. There were even more files that she hadn’t opened. 

“All of them, Tony, all of them. One subject. Just one subject,” Pepper said, and her hands trembled as she tapped on the console.

Tony peered over at Rumlow. “What the hell is this?”

He shrugged. His thumbs notched in his belt. “Can’t say. Like I said I haven’t been here for all the years the facility has been in operation. I do know that there’s only been one subject for the experiments all the time I’ve been here. That’s o4.”

Something howled in the background like a lost dog begging for help. “God damn.” It hit him. “Who did the experiments? Who does the experiments.”

“Now, sir, you know who does the experiments. They’ve been doing them for years now. They even had you to their labs when you were younger as I heard.” Rumlow smacked his lips – like he was fucking devouring every ounce of horror throbbing from Tony. It must have been a feast for the asshole.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Tony spat at him. But he knew. He remembered Howard bringing him to the labs. At twelve years old and on the verge of teenage rebellion, Tony with his genius and brilliance presented a hard child for Howard to raise. Tony’s mother tended toward a softer approach while Howard either totally forgot that Tony was alive or spent hours lecturing and sometimes hitting Tony to get him to follow the rules. Things changed at ten though. Howard welcomed Tony with open arms, started to reveal parts of the business to Tony. It felt as if he’d been welcomed to a long closed off secret club. 

He spent his twelfth summer in that laboratory. The lab with all of its resources was located in upstate New York. His mother would visit often and ask what he was studying. He went into grandiose descriptions of energy sources and flight modulation. It all prepared him for his place as the chief officer of research and development in just a few short years. Tony stayed in the engineering section of the complex. But he knew about the other building. They called it the bio-division. He stayed clear of it because he had no interest in bio-weapons. Part of him balked at just the thought of them and he silently decided when he took over the company, the bio-weapons division wouldn’t exist. 

During that summer though, Stark Industries had invited a number of promising interns – post-doctoral fellows to train at the complex. Most ended up working with Tony. A few were in the bio-division. One woman, a young twenty something year old, used to sit in the common area outside to eat her lunch. She sat alone and most of the time looked distant and too cold to approach. One day, though, she sat there curled over her sandwich chewing but Tony guessed not even tasting it. He wasn’t the kind of kid with a lot of empathy, but he had fought with Howard the night before and he wanted some distance. He ended up sitting next to her at the picnic table outside the large buildings. She side eyed him but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have a lunch with him. He just wanted space. He remembered thinking that he should have just gone alone on the walking path around complex. But then she spoke.

“Do you ever,” she had said but hadn’t looked at him. Her gaze sighted the tree line. “Do you ever wonder if there’s a god?”

Tony had frowned at her, scrunching up his face. “No.”

“I know there isn’t one. I used to think there could be. Some benevolent creator. I hoped there was one.” She put her sandwich down and tears gathered in her eyes ran down her face as she bowed her head. “Not after this. Not after that.” She looked behind her at the bio-division building. It had a large sculpture of the helical structure of DNA (twisting in the wrong direction) in front of it. “That – what they do – what _we_ do. It’s wrong. So wrong.”

At first, he’d thought she was talking about the weapons. Surely, she understood when she applied for the program that Stark Industries was a weapons manufacturer. “It’s weapons, what did you expect?”

“I didn’t expect him.” She coughed, and the color drained out of her face. “What I had to do to him, today.”

“Animal work? You don’t like animal work?” She was a biologist, wasn’t that something they had to do routinely. They might not like it, but it was something that was kind of required.

“Not animal work.” She had turned and stared at the building, then turned to Tony. She looked so much smaller, even though she had a least on foot on him for height. In a whispered she’d said, “They do such horrible things. I’m not supposed to talk about it. National security and all. But I can’t. I can’t sit there and watch as they-.” She stopped when Obadiah Stane walked up to their picnic table. His hands were in his pockets and even then he had no hair on the top of his head.

“Marissa, we were looking for you. The next stage of the project is ready to go. We’d like you to be the one to initiate it,” Stane had said and then turned to Tony. “There’s my boy. How’s everything going?”

Tony smiled at Stane. Obie treated him like a treasured nephew, always doting on him and giving him the attention Howard never did. “Good, Obie. I’m working on cores for the arc reactor today.” Obie thought it was a useless project, but he’d always supported Tony’s ideas. 

“Yeah? Any new ones? Anything to make it smaller?” Obie said but then interrupted himself and turned to Marissa who’d become stone in front of them, her hand perched over her sandwich. “Marissa. Don’t you have some place to be?”

She nodded and gathered up her lunch. She tossed it in the garbage pail and then raced back to the building, never looking back at them. Obie had turned to Tony. “Marissa is failing out of the program. Don’t let her upset you. She can’t do the work.”

“Oh.”

Later that summer, he learned that there had been an accident in the bio-division. Marissa had been the only fatality. He stood outside of the building at the picnic table and thought about how Marissa cried and he’d done nothing. He was no one’s hero. He was twelve. He looked up at the building. They’d said the accident had been her fault, but Stark Industries still paid a handsome settlement to the family for their loss. At the time, he figured it was a good thing. SI hadn’t held her responsible for the destruction of the lab. 

He’d been there. Steps away from the building where a man had been tortured and he never knew. He could have known, he should have asked. He was twelve – what responsibility did he own? He’d spent the next four summers on the campus. He never walked into the bio-division laboratory. Not even once.

The anger – at himself – at his father – at the guards – roiled and he turned back to Pepper. “Download everything. Everything.”

“I am,” Pepper said as her hands betrayed her firm voice, shaking as she tapped on the keys. 

“Boss?” A tinny voice called to him. He spun around but only found Rumlow glowering at him. “Boss, we can’t get him out of the cell. He won’t come out.”

Tony twisted to see the speaker mounted on the wall. He glanced down at the cell and saw Happy standing at wall phone mounted next to the cell. Happy waved to him and then pointed to the cell. Sawyer had the door of the cell open and he was speaking to the man in the cage. The man sat on the floor and refused to move. Sawyer looked up at the observation window and gave a weak smile to Tony as he gestured to the man to leave the cage. It reminded Tony of a man attempting to coax a dog to do something it didn’t want to do. 

“Son of a bitch,” Tony said. He’d known there was something here – an animal or something they would need to transfer to a safer facility. Hell, he’d already contacted some of the best zoologists in the world for assistance. He’d never expected to find a human being. His rage transformed then, into hot adrenalin and he could only think of one thing – get the man out of here and then burn the place down. “You!” He screamed at Rumlow. “Get the fuck down there and help. I want him out of that cage, that thing off of his face, and dressed in five minutes. Or else, I tell the Movement that you disobeyed.”

Rumlow weighed what Tony threatened. Tony watched as he went through the possibilities. Just as Tony was about to offer proof of his intentions, Rumlow arched a brow and said, “No skin off my nose. You don’t even know who he is. He could be someone that was a murderer, that volunteered. That gets _off_ on this kind of shit.”

“Get out of my face,” Tony hissed. Rumlow nodded and left. Tony went back to Pepper, but listened all the same for the sound of the elevator to ensure that he followed orders. He did. After a little searching, Tony found an outdated rotary phone on a corner desk in the observation room. He picked up the handset and listened for a dial tone. On the center of the dial instructions stated to dial a 9 for an outside line. He did. It took a while to get through to Rhodey on an unfamiliar line, but he did.

“Hey, James, I need your help,” Tony said.

“Whoa, you’re calling me by my name. What the hell is happening,” Rhodey said. Tony detected the stress and caring in his voice.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Tony said as he watched Rumlow exit the elevator on the cell level. 

“Well, since you declared you’re Iron Man and nearly died of palladium poisoning I got used to strange and mysterious things with Tony Stark,” Rhodey replied. “Tell me.”

Tony had never confessed about the Movement to anyone. He’d never betrayed that part of his family’s legacy. How could he? And now he needed to bring an Air Force officer into the mix to help him with a man who’d been tortured for years. Who the hell could this guy be?

“I have a situation, I can’t explain over the phone. Is it possible for you to come to Colorado?” Tony asked. He pleaded with gods he didn’t believe it to allow him this small grace.

“I’m in Colorado – Colorado Springs. Air Force training. Where are you?” Tony gave him the coordinates. “That’s up in the mountains, at the Continental Divide.”

“Yeah, can you come?” Tony asked. It was a small miracle that Rhodey happened to be so close. “Not officially.”

Rhodey paused before he answered. “Yeah. I can swing it. I’m here as a trainer, anyhow. Let me get out of my next class of the conference.”

“Thanks, Rhodey,” Tony said. “When can you be here?”

“About two hours?”

“Make it one.” Tony didn’t want to sound like he was begging but this was far outside his expertise and he needed a cool head around – not that Happy and Pepper didn’t supply that but neither of them had military training to deal with the guards.

“I’ll do what I can,” Rhodey answered and then hung up.

“Shit,” Tony said and dropped the handset. 

“Tony,” Pepper said as she faced him. The eerie green light from the computer screen threw odd tones across her face. But he still glimpsed the tears in her eyes, on her cheeks. “I think I found out who he is.”

A murderer. Maybe Kennedy’s real assassin. Maybe a serial killer of young girls. A pedophile. Tony might want these things so some of the guilt and pain would be lifted from his shoulders, but the bleakness in Pepper’s expression told him more than he wanted to know – revealed the truths that he would have to wrestle with for the rest of his life.

“Who?” Tony shouldn’t ask, because some part of him already knew. He watched Howard for years. Every part of Tony as a young child emulated his dad. He wanted to be Howard. He desperately wanted to impress him. 

“Just what are you doing, Tony?” Howard had asked as Tony sat at the foot of his wide double bed. The footboard acted as his console, the helm of his mighty ship. He had a captain’s hat on as he used an old frisbee as his steering wheel for the helm of his boat. 

“I’m you, Daddy!” Tony had said. The captain’s hat he’d stolen from Howard’s closet. It blocked part of his view as it slipped down his face and covered his eyes. He was only five years old and his father defined the moon and the stars for Tony. “Going to rescue Captain America!” He smiled and then took out a toy horn to toot it.

Howard snatched the horn away and cracked it with his bare hands. “Get down off the bed and stop acting like a fool. Captain America is dead. Everyone knows that!”

“But Daddy, you keep looking-.” 

The slap stung Tony’s cheek, and his eyes watered. He dropped the frisbee and slid off the bed. His whole body quaked. What had he done wrong? Howard loved Captain America. Everything he’d ever said about Captain America had been about how good he’d been and how perfect he’d been.

“God damn it, son. Captain America is a myth. Don’t you get it? He’s gone, and no one is ever going to find him. No one.” His eyes were wild then, wild and anxious as if having Tony believe him – that Captain America was dead and gone and Tony know it was the most important thing in the world. 

“Okay, Daddy. Okay.” Tony rubbed his cheek and left the room. From then on, he hid his Captain America posters and comic books. He kept his love for his idol a secret. No one, not even Daddy could know. Even though his father left his mother and Tony periodically on sea journeys, Tony never asked about them again. His mother had muttered a soft curse at his dad and shook her head. He’d hear her speaking with her friends, asking why he had to find a dead soldier. But Tony grew up and he understood the thirst for knowledge – a dead soldier such as Captain America would have brought wonders. A live soldier something else entirely.

Before asking the prisoner’s name, Tony asked, “How long? Specifically, how long has he been here?” 

Pepper stopped before she replied as if she needed to calculate the specifics. “I can’t say down to the day, or even how long before he was brought to this facility. But he’s been here since 1977.”

“God,” Tony whispered and closed his eyes. “So more than 35 years.”

“From the looks of it he was probably found in 1968.” 

“Found,” Tony said and pressed fingers into his closed eyes until he saw bright lights. Tears ran down his cheeks as he met Pepper’s unfailing gaze. “Captain America. Steve Rogers.” It cracked open his heart and every childhood joy and hope drained out. That waft of a man who’d been tortured and dehumanized for over three decades was his hero. “God, Dad, what did you do?” Suddenly Tony was happy Howard was dead and buried along with Obie – who’d apparently ran the facility long after the Stark’s died in the early 90s. 

Tony went to the window and Pepper joined him, leaving her work at the computer. Before them, the cell door had been opened and the prisoner stayed hunched in the cage. No sight, no ability to speak, but he crouched like an animal about to spring on its prey. He was an animal in some ways, caged and beaten for years. Tony spotted a button that labeled intercom on it on the wall of the observation room. He hit it and the sounds from the prison cell below echoed in the observation room.

“o4, you either come out or I come in to get you.” 

Rogers stayed firmly in place. Not willing to risk it, as Rumlow stated, a level 3 punishment. 

“Son of a bitch.” Rumlow pulled out his club. “Get the fuck out here you god damned piece of shit.”

Tony grabbed the microphone as Rumlow charged the cage. “Stop! Don’t you fucking dare.” He looked at Pepper. “Don’t let him touch Rogers.” He didn’t stop to tell her what to do. He dashed out of the room and found the elevator again. He pressed the button and waited too long, before it finally rang and he rushed inside of the car. He hit the prison level and the car went to it immediately. 

As he hurried out of the car, he heard Pepper warning Rumlow, “Do not strike him. Mister Stark gave you explicit instructions.”

Tony ran around the corner into the wide open space of the prison vestibule with its tall girders and several poles and benches in the center. One of the poles had chains with manacles attached to it. The pole and the floor were streaked with rusted stains. He swallowed hard and said, “Stop. Rumlow. Stop. Captain Rogers, I’m Tony Stark. I’m here to help you.”

Rogers straightened as if he’d heard a ghost. He climbed to his feet. It was obvious from how his bones stuck out and his pelvic bones were so obvious that he had been underfed for a long time. His abdomen looked caved in and his skin shined with a translucence that only flesh not seeing the sun for ages would. His legs bowed and he shivered as he stood up. Without sight, he still managed to stay well away from Rumlow. Tony approached him, carefully, tentatively. 

“Captain Rogers,” Tony said. The name didn’t draw his attention.

“O4 – your owner is talking to you!” Rumlow said.

Rogers shifted toward Rumlow as if he knew he had to, as if some invisible chain linked him to the guard. “No,” Tony said, and Rogers startled. He hunched his shoulders like he expected to be hit. “Captain Rogers, you don’t have to-.”

“It isn’t going to respond to anything but it’s number. You better get used to that,” Rumlow said and smirked.

“Captain Rogers, come over here,” Tony directed but he stayed firmly in place, close to Rumlow. Maybe he couldn’t tell exactly where Tony was considering the fucking metal alloy mask over his face. “Can you get that thing off of him?” 

“I can,” Rumlow said but didn’t move. Sawyer shuffled around in the back next to the corridor where the elevator emptied out. He wanted to escape. Well, he damned well wasn’t going to leave. Tony refused to let anyone of these guard leave. 

“Do it!” Tony commanded, and Rogers flinched. Tony reached out to touch the Captain but he cringed against it as if he knew by instinct, moving closer to Rumlow. 

Jesus Christ.

Rumlow licked his lips and quirked a brow. “Don’t see why it’s gotta see.” He pulled out a tool – one that looked similar to an Allen wrench. “O4 on your knees.” The Captain complied he crossed his arms behind his back as if waiting for someone to bind them. Rumlow slipped the wrench into place as he spoke. “Normally it’s shackled when we do anything with its face restraints. This is just gonna freak it the hell out.” 

“Fuck you. Now, just stop the dramatics and get the damned thing off his eyes and his mouth.”

Rumlow shook his head. “No can do with the mouth restraint. It’s bolted in place. That baby has to come out with surgery.” He cranked the wrench and Tony caught sight of a trickle of perspiration dripping down from beneath the mask. 

“It has to come off. How the hell does he eat?” Tony snarled at the guard.

Rumlow stopped his work on the mask and flipped the round mouthpiece open. “Easy peasy, right o4. You want some food?” Rogers shook his head. He fucking looked starved but still he answered no. What the hell? “We just tube it down its throat once a day. It’s got a formula it eats. Gives it enough nutrients to keep the blood rich enough for harvest.”

“Rich enough for harvest?” The words, the actions, the knowledge surrounded him, cluttered his brain. So much, so much hell on Earth that he couldn’t parse how anyone could survive. How did Captain America survive, and why did he survive? What point? Why did he fight all these years? Why did he continue? 

Rumlow shrugged at them. “You don’t want to acknowledge the wealth of information and the gem you got here, that’s not up to me, sir.” He snorted. With one last revolution, the mask split open and Sawyer helped Rumlow with the ports that had been drilled into the Captain’s skull. Tiny trickles of blood dripped down his face like tears. Once the mask fell away, Rogers bowed his head and blinked, though he fought to keep his eyes open even through the tears and the obvious pain the lighting brought him. 

Tony bent down and said softly, “You can keep your eyes closed. You don’t have to do any of the crap he says anymore or any of them. You don’t have to do this.”

Even with those words, Rogers forced his eyes open against the light and strained to see Tony.

Rumlow knocked Rogers in the head. Tony barked a no at him at the same time Rumlow said, “Meet your new master, o4. This is Tony Stark.”

Rogers snapped to attention and all the fear and cowering disappeared. The pain the light brought him forgotten as he focused on Tony. A wordless plea spoken with hope resided in those faded blue eyes. And Tony saw that face, distorted by the mouth restraint and pale, almost wan in color. As a child it was the face he clung to, wished for help from, it was the face of his hero. The distress, the torment, the agony marred his features, and yet when he looked at Tony, only hope existed. How could he engender such optimism in a man who knew nothing but the hell of human torture for nearly four decades? The pit of his stomach dropped and the crash of everything he would need to take on in order to save this man overwhelmed him. The world narrowed to just the two of them, and he saw, for the first time, both hope and dread before him – but not as separate paths, but as entwined like two vines vying for the sun. Which would live and which would die?

INTERLUDE I  
Eyes.

Eyes – deep and powerful. Looking. Searching. Words. Not understood. Words filled with anguish. What are they? Who are they? 

Memories recalled. A beautiful woman with eyes of promise begging and pleading. _You don’t have to do this._ The words rang loud and clear. Mimicked. A mockery of the sacred, the recollections of a past not marred with this place – the place of desolation, the place of soullessness. 

They came at night, they came during the day. They came always. They surrounded and overwhelmed. They became every moment of every breath taken. They were life and death and the hell in between.

And yet. The echoes of the past reverberated but collapsed at the same time.

_There's not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down._

Not safe. Nothing about life is safe. Nothing can be safe. It knows this small fact. Survival was not assured. Survival should not be the plan.

_There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water._

_Please don't do this. W-we have time. We can work it out._ So true and so beautiful. A purity, it did not deserve. 

_Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die….this is my choice._

Choice. Its learned there was no choice. There was acceptance or pain. Pain came in levels. 

Level one: No food for three days. The isolation tank for three days.

Level two: Five lashes with the whip. No food for five days. The isolation tank for five days. The mask for five days. 

Level three: A count of ten with the cane on its back. A count of ten with the whip on its abdomen. Cold isolation tank for ten days. No food for ten days. No water for three days. The mask for ten days.

Level four: Refreeze.

It didn’t think about the other levels.

The fourth level it has not experienced. It tried. So many times it tried. The threats were always there, but it never acted so that the punishment might be to be refrozen. It longed for the cold, for the ice. For the days when her eyes would see it. Nothing saw it now. The guards, its masters, trained it. Three times a week, it would be trained to do another chore or accept another experimental torment. 

In some long nights when the cell quieted and the guards disappeared into the darkness. It would hum and listen to the sounds. It would hum and it would float on the sounds. Drifting over a dream of yesterday – a dream of a different life. It wondered if it had a life at one time or if it just fantasized about something it could never have. Yet the melodious sounds emanating from its throat cast a spell over it and it listened. Foolishly. Recollections or fantasies, it did not know.

Boys in uniform marching off toward death.

Weakness and sickness like a plague in its chest.

A kind doctor – one that it never saw again – promising hope from the sickness. 

Strength, power. Running through its veins. 

Then her eyes – so dark and so potent they swept it away. Words recalled _Don’t do this._

Cold, encompassing and total, taking it down to the depths. 

It always jerked away from the dreams before the rest of the memory or story. It hated the rest. The final chapters existed inside the cage, or at the table where the experiments happened. No hope or reality happened outside of the prison cell. Not since it acquiesced to the pain, to the torture, to Stark. 

It shivered. 

Stark had gone away. Stark had disappeared never to return.

Stark was back. 

It meant only one thing.

It shuddered and surrendered to the inevitable.


End file.
